The Wild
by Heartly
Summary: M is a young girl from the village of Kelt. Her life turned upside down by the return of Daemons in her village & the appearance of a handsome ranger. After loosing everything, M journeys to the ends of the earth to find healing and perhaps even love. OCs. Mature subject matter in latter chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE:** this is my first attempt at a story for fan fiction so I'm sorry if I offend anyone, its not intentional. Some characters or instances might be based on other works of fiction by well-know authors (such as Tolkien) I do not own anything of theirs, even though I might like to. I really hope that you enjoy my story and let me know!

-Heartly

**Chapter 1: The Daemon**

**_Nay, go no further!_**

**_ Search no more for what none have dared to search before,_**

**_For it lies in waiting, within the thickened leaves underfoot._**

**_ In the thickets and the thorns it breathes._**

As we enter into our heroine's world let us note that the story has already started. For the moment, our heroine's past is irrelevant along with her name. We shall refer to her simply as _M_. At this very moment, when we enter the tale, our heroine _M_ is racing through the darkened woods of Kelt faster than a shrieking wind rips through the trees in midwinter. However, her plight is not without good reason: twilight is fast approaching; soon it shall no longer be safe for young girls to be out of doors let alone in a wild forest. Within the Wild Woods, Daemons and other unknown creatures walk, some as upright as any human, but we mustn't follow them. Let us return to following our young heroine as she rushes through the trees. _M_ is convinced that a Daemon is hunting her. She is correct to fear so; a young girl straying from the safe paths winding through the woods makes a tasty treat. Who could possibly save her should the daemon suddenly lunge from the shadows and attack? For how many seconds would _M_'s shrill scream pierce the air? Would dying, at the hands of a foe, be painful?

Twiggs snapped in the underbrush and _M_ spun around to face her hunter. Enormous firs and ceders towered hundreds and thousands of feet above _M,_ the trunks of the thickest ones were large enough in diameter to house a small colony. While the arms of these monstrous trees elegantly extended towards the heavens, their masses of pine and leaves canopied the entire forest blocking out the light. _M_ spun around again thinking that she heard a raspy breath being drawn behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted one of the smaller, worn trails used by witch doctors to travel safely through the woods to collect their herbs and medicines. _M_ turned her back to it; surely whatever creature that was hunting her would not cross sacred ground in order to attack.

Silence…

Utterly enclosing and complete… The silence that filled the forest made _M _shiver. Brandishing a large fallen branch in front of her, braver than any soldier, _M_ struggled to keep her breathing steady while her heart raced and her hands shook. Then, out of the shadows, appeared two massive eyes. _M_ would never have imagined that those two eyes could belong to any creature, wild thing, or daemon that she knew of if they had not pierced her soul with such malicious evil. Floating in the dark _M_ knew the eyes, black pupils and irises wreathed in sickly yellow orbs, belonged to a thing more terrible then she dared to imagine.

"_M_!" her sister's voice echoed through the trees. "_M_…! Where are you…?! Come home…! Come home, please…!"

_ M_ looked to the yellowed eyes of the daemon and watched him as he slowly drew back into the thick of the forest. How long she staring out into the darkness, the branch held out in front of her as if it were a sword, _M_ knew not. Her sister's voice echoed through the trees again, incomprehensible this time; the words blurred in _M_'s mind as she slowly backed up onto the path never taking her eyes off the spot where the daemon had disappeared.

Time slipped out of mind as _M_ tore through the Wild Woods following the path set before her by the witch doctors of Kelt and beyond. In her panic and desperation to reach home _M _often lost her footing bruising her knees, slicing her palms open on jagged tocks and tearing her pants and tunic till nothing remained but shreds of dirty fabric. Out! Out! She must get out of these woods it is dangerous. This forest, never was it understood, its dark magic ran too deep in the earth; _M _dared not test its limits, nor its mercy.

x x x

_ M_'s breath came and went in frantic gasps as she raced away from the forest and through the village to it's outskirts where her mother's house lay near the fields beyond the western wall. _M_'s stomach heaved and churned, but the thought of the daemon following her through the village fueled _M_'s legs to carry her to safety even faster.

"_M_!" her sister cried out in astonishment as _M_ stumbled to a halt in front of their father's bookcase. She had almost ripped the door off its hinges as she blew through the house. "_M_? I didn't think you'd heard me… _M_...?"

_M _ was searching frantically through each and every book she could lay her hands on, tossing most of them aside.

"What's going on?" demanded the girls' mother, Padma, as she swept into the front room a loaf of bread and a pitcher of mead in her hands.

Upon seeing her youngest daughter in a state of blind panic ripping through the family's ancient books, Padma dropped all that she was carrying onto the dinner table and rushed towards _M_. _M_ sank into her mother's warm embrace, clutching a small gilded book to her breast.

"Sweetheart… oh, my darling," Padma cooed, rocking her daughter back and forth in her lap. "What is wrong? What happened…? Tell me, you can tell me anything."

_ M_ shivered against her mother as the thin layer of sweat coating her body turned to ice on her skin in the evening chill. Padma looked down worriedly at her daughter.

"Fayevin start a fire."

Happy to be given something to do, Faye bustled about the small cottage gathering tinder and wood.

"What is it _M_," Padma no longer questioned her youngest child, but demanded to be told exactly what had frightened _M_ senseless.

Timidly, _M _lowered the gilded book she clutched to her chest till her knuckles burned bone white against her skin. Padma said not a word, nor did _M_. A mutual understanding passed between the two of them as the magnitude of what _M_ had seen in the Wild Woods set in. The same beast stared back at them from the page of the ancient book _M _clutched:

_Bloodlust, a Guide to the Most Dangerous Daemons of the Dark_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Town Meeting**

Speak, if y'a dare, hushed and low,

Speak of the places where the wild things go.

Search, if y'a will, but find them you'll not,

Search to kill or soon they'll be forgot.

The murmurs of the crowd fed the fire they gathered round. A hundred – perhaps more – had come for answers: crops were failing in parts, children returned to their parents disoriented or not at all for days on end… the townsfolk were afraid and by firelight they searched for answers from comrades, elders and the witch doctors, but not everyone had a proper response to what was going on.

"Silence!" Almar, one of the elders called for. His voice sounding deep within the hearts of his fellow man as the firelight and shadow of the night danced across his aging features. "Now, let us settle down to a little business…" the crowd hushed. "For many hundreds of years we have been fortunate enough to live in peace in the shadow of the mountains and the great Wild Woods," tighter he pulled his cloak about his own shoulders. _M_ could feel her sister bury herself deeper into the wool blanket they shared. She blamed the night-time breeze for the goose bumps that ran up her arms. "Our plains and fields to the west have yielded us a great many harvests," many members of the crowd nodded their heads and whispered in agreement. "…but I fear that… that we have lived in ignorant comfort and bliss for far too long. Please, my good friends…" Almar held up his hands to silence the crowd who had broken into fearful chatter once again. "… my friends, we do not know what strange workings or dark gods reside within our woods. Perhaps, perhaps we have not appeased them as we ought to… perhaps we have simply fallen out of grace with these gods, I do not pretend to know, however… we must not turn to blame our children for their curiosity—" at this note, Almar turned to look to _M_, "—nor should we turn to blame one another for our inability to have foreseen these events," the townsfolk remained silent. "They are many among us here tonight who have seen these great creatures in the flesh, some of them are our own children who have been either deeply scarred or tragically altered by these events."

_M _remained quiet while her sister squeezed her hand gently. Had she changed without her knowing? Though _M_ felt no different from the day before – if not a little more hesitant to enter the surrounding area of the woods – had she too been 'tragically altered'? Did Almar speak of more than physical deformities when he said 'tragically altered'?

"It's true," said one woman, Yolande, the mother of a young girl Faye and _M_ had attended school with. "It's true! My own—my wee lass, she saw one them daemons not long ago. She came back from the woods with four fingers missin'… and now she don't hardly say a word at all."

"You see?" Almar spoke in a near whisper to the crowd. "You see, now? There are not many among us who can shed some light on our situation, but the few who can we must look to for guidance… Padma," Almar spoke and _M_ saw her mother rise to her feet at the edge of the circle, imposing in her height. "I think it important you share with us your knowledge about these creatures, and they're ways…"

The crowd listened to Padma, so rapt they were that not a word was said to interrupt or contradict her sources to such information of dark magic and monsters. _M_ was certain that all the information her mother gleaned must have come from the ancient books they kept and information handed down to each and every witch doctor from centuries past. Yet it still surprised her how efficiently rules were set in place by the council elders and her mother. The rules were as follows:

1. No man, woman or child was to travel within the forest, unless under the most important circumstances and with a company of at least five adults.

2. Every young girl and woman must travel with a short sword or dagger on their person at all times, even within the village. (The daemons – it had been discovered – took a particular liking to Kelt's female population, no matter what their age.)

3. All sightings or encounters with daemons or any other creature in the woods was to be reported to high council immediately.

Months passed and so did an excellent harvest. The rules set down that night by the fire still remained in effect, but every day the sightings of daemons decreased. Soon enough, another winter passed and it was thought that the village had also safely passed some unknown test of perseverance: the daemons appeared to have gone. _How strange…_ _M_ thought, _to take such a particular interest in us for so short a span of time. _As soon as _M_ mentioned these thoughts to her mother she was quickly reprimanded before being given the information she desired: how the daemons thought, ate, lived, breathed, where they came from, how they could be stopped or persuaded to abandon their chase, what forces summoned them out of the bowels of the earth, etc.

As the weeks passed Padma took increasingly more work upon herself: blessing homes, weddings, births, deaths, assisting the ill or dying, supplying herbs and charms to the townsfolk, giving council to both the elders and farmers. As much as Faye and _M_ tried to ease their mother's burden there was always more to be done. However, the girls did not begrudge the work; no, the increase in income was a welcome change. Though Fay and _M_ were descended of a long line of kings the line was ancient and broken with the death of their father many years before. Whatever fortunate there had been was gone long before their birth, all that remained were the remains of a small library of decrepit books, a locket and a worn compass.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Home**

Lay, sweet lady, down

By silver-bramble hearth.

For tis safe to sleep,

Within these sacred walls of stone.

"Fayevin, my darling," Padma sighed, settling down in front of her vanity, an old wedding gift from her husband. "Would you fetch my green robes for me now?"

"Of course mama," Faye replied, setting down her weaving and sweeping gracefully from her mother's bedchamber.

As _M _lay, stomach down on the soft rug by her mother's side, she spread in front of her the family locket and compass. Like a child admiring their sweets, _M _traced he ancient family emblem of the ruddy gold locket and stroked the glass covering the quivering needle of the compass.

"Oh…" Padma groaned, pulling at the skin around her eyes. "Oh I used to be so beautiful _M_… I used to be young like you, my sweetheart," Padma said, smiling down at her daughter and meeting her sharp, curious eyes. "Now all I've got are these damned crows feet!" Padma laughed, but the pained tone to her voice betrayed her.

Rising to her feet, _M _stood behind her mother and kissed the crown of her head, pausing for a moment to smell the spicy, fragrant perfume of her hair that _M_ loved so dearly. Slowly, as to not pull at her mother's dark locks, _M_ began to unpin and unwind the tightly coiled bun at the nape of her mother's neck.

"Good god…" Padma muttered to their reflection in her vanity mirror. "I cannot believe – not even for an instant – that I was only a little older than yourself when I married your father… goodness me… I was so young, and already finished my apprenticeship… good lord, you'll be eighteen soon."

"Not till winter, mama," _M _replied untwisting the last few braids of her mother's hair.

"But still!" Padma said giving _M_'s leg a playful little slap. "I suppose I'll have to marry your sister and you off soon..."

"Not quite yet mama… not quite yet..."

"Oh I know! I know!" Padma muttered, shaking her head as if to banish the thought of sending her daughters away. "But Fayevin will undoubtedly marry before you."

"I'll do what before who mama?" Faye asked, puzzled, as she stood in the bedroom doorway a long green robe in her arms.

"You'll get married before I do," _M_ said, moving to perch on her mother's vanity table.

Faye took up _M_'s place uncoiling the rest of Padma's hair and brushing it out in long sweeps. _What an interesting reflection_, thought Padma, gazing into the faces of her two girls in the mirror. Fayevin, so tall and dark like her father, she was the picture of absolute refinement with her long chestnut hair and sweet, almond shaped eyes. And _M_… Padma tilted her head to look at her youngest. In many ways _M _and Faye were quite alike in their beauty: both were sensationally tall like Padma, highly intelligent, kind, respectful girls who shared the same smile and the same laugh; a laugh like bell chimes blowing in the wind, but more graceful than gods.

Yet, whereas Faye retained a rounder, fuller elegance to her body, there was a sharp, almost cold air of old mysticism about _M_. _M_ had already acquired a confident, almost knowing, stride. Not only that, but _M_'s eyes were different from her sister's in more ways than one: they were the same pale, blue-green colour as Padma's, but larger and rounder, and with a single look, _M_ could pierce through flesh straight to the bone. _M _was lanky, not round or feminine like Faye; she was powerfully built, made of muscle, skin, and bone. Her skin was milk white, luminous as the milky way, lending a pixie-like eeriness to her dark hair as it swept only a little past her shoulders. _M _was, in no other words, a great and terrible beauty.

x x x

_M_ awoke with a start.

"What is it?" Faye whispered, rolling onto her side to better look at _M_ who lay in her own bed across the room. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," _M_ whispered back, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

"Oh don't you _'nothing'_ me! You're a terrible liar… what happened? Was it that dream again?"

_M _nodded and whispered back. "Yes. Yes except—except this time it… it was different," _M_ muttered lying back down. She'd sat bolt upright after waking from the dream.

_M_ lay her head back down on her pillow, her hair fanning out around her head like a moon reflected in dark waters.

"How…?" Faye whispered across the room, snuggled comfortably within her own bed she longed to hear what vivid pictures came to her sister from the deep.

"Huh?"

"The dream…!" Faye repeated. "The dream! How had it changed?"

"Because—" _M_ struggled to find the appropriate words, "—because it just wasn't the same! Not the same daemon I'd seen in the woods at least… it—he… he wasn't evil."

"How can you know _it_ was a _he_?"

"I don't know," _M_ shot back at her sister, "I just do!"

"So what happened?"

"Nothing."

"Oh don't start that again!" Faye replied, slowly becoming more and more exasperated with her sister.

"I'm not! I am being completely serious…! Nothing happened… it was just a dog."

"I thought you said _it_ was a _he_?"

"I—I did!" _M_ snapped. "He was just in the shape of the dog; he was the dog… a great black dog…"

"Black dogs in dreams mean death _M_!"

"Well this one didn't!" _M _whispered. "I looked straight into his eyes… right into them and—and it was like—like looking at miles and miles of ocean, as far as I could see there was only the ocean."

"And that's all?" Faye asked. "That's all you saw?"

_M_ looked over at her sister and nodded yes.

"Good lord…" Faye rolled her eyes at _M_, turned her back and promptly went back to sleep.

_M_ stayed awake for another hour turning the events of the dream over in her mind. _The dog… Him… the ocean… _what did it all mean? What was it _supposed_ to mean?


	4. Chapter 4

**IMPORTANT: **Just to warn you, this chapter and the ones following it might become difficult for some readers to stomach (in some scenarios). If you do not like graphic violence, disturbing images or mature themes please stop reading this story right now! However, if you do like those kinds of things in a story, I hope that you enjoy this one. I don't like those things too much either, so the story doesn't overload on them, this is just a warning.

-Heartly

**Chapter 4: Visitors **

Like the water nymphs sliding

Through golden orbs and slipstreams,

Our girls should be careful

Else they stumble or fall.

_M _and Faye floated belly up in the cool waters of their secret childhood stream. It was located outside of the village, by the edge of the forest. The girls were the only ones who knew of the stream's existence. _M _gazed up at the clouds floating across the bright blue sky while Faye scrubbed her hair clean.

"Do you hear that?" Faye asked, peering around their little hideout.

"Huh?" _M_ replied, lifting her head out of the water.

"_That_!" Faye pounded her fist on a near-by rock. "That _rhythm_…! Can't you hear it? What _is_ it?"

_M_ lowered her ear to the ground; staying completely still once she had done so. Then, _M _sprang to her feet, splashed out of the water and onto the ledge of boulders by the stream that protected them from any prying eyes.

"_M_ what are you doing?!"

_M_ shushed her sister before fixing her gaze on the storm of dust that was gathering on the horizon.

Faye pulled on her sister's arm. "_M_! You're going to be seen from the village…! _M _come on, you're naked for goodness sake!"

"No I won't… come take a look at this," _M _urged, pulling Faye onto the boulder beside her. "What do think that is?" _M _pointed to the dust rising in the distance.

The girls squinted their eyes, trying to focus in on the approaching mass of swirling dirt that moved towards them in the morning's brilliant light. Slowly, the mass started to become clearer and the girls could distinguish little pinpricks of gleaming light against the dust.

"Oh my god… its soldiers."

"What?" _M_ whispered, shocked.

"Look," Faye pointed to the gleaming pinpricks of light as they approached, steadily becoming clearer. "Horses… there are men on horses… maybe forty of them in total…"

_M _was astounded. _Soldiers…? What business did they have in Kelt?_

"What do think that is behind them?" Faye asked.

"Its people…"

"No, it can't be… it can't be."

"Yes it is!" _M_ almost shouted. "It is! There are people following them. If– if there are forty soldiers and what looks like at least a hundred people… my god! There must be almost two hundred of them in total!"

"Two hundred?! There can't be! What are they all doing coming this way…? The village can't house all of them if they ask to pass through here!"

"Well we just can't turn them away!" _M_ cried.

Faye was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "We've got to tell the village _M_," she stated. "They might not even have seen them yet…"

Without a second thought Faye and _M_ jumped into their clothes; their wet hair slapping against their backs as the raced across the open fields and into the village. The girls arrived within minutes, stepping into chaos. People ran helter skelter trying to catch loose goats or geese, cleaning or packing in case they should be forced to flee from attack. All around the wall that protected the village - made decades ago from the thickest cedars in the forest – sentries and scouts were posted waiting for a signal. The wave of a black flag meant war, run, a green flag meant peace, stay.

Faye and _M_ were grabbed from behind.

"Where have you been?" Padma shouted over the ruckus, holding tightly to her girls' arms. "I've been looking for you both everywhere… there's a host coming—"

"—we know mama!" Faye shouted back. "We've seen them!"

Fifteen minutes later Padma, Faye and _M_ stood outside the walls of Kelt٭ with the council of three elders, dressed in their finest. The elders all wore similar outfits: navy blue cloaks, the colour of midnight, over brown leather armor. In Kelt, every elder had once been a warrior charged with protecting their people at any cost. They had to pay a debt to the gods if they wished to progress further. The debt was paid with enemy blood. Beside them stood Padma in the place of honour; as the leading witch doctor in the region she and her daughters had high standings in matters of the law and war. Padma was dressed in robes of dark purple and green, the colours of witch doctors and royal blood. Faye was also dressed in purple, but softer and more in violet, her dress whipped out behind her in the breeze. _M _thought that Faye looked like the most beautiful figure head; able could adorn only the finest of ships as she faced the host. As the youngest member of the greeting party present _M _was allowed to wear her dark hair down and was dressed, from head to toe, in white and black. She would be the youth and the innocence of the village, but also the powerful magic of war speaking for those who could not. Next to the elders, _M _was the most valuable member present; she was her mother's apprentice, another future warrior or possible elder. _M_ was the future.

The group of travelers drew near; most of the people on foot stayed back, at the edge of the rows of wheat. Some soldiers on horseback slowly dismounted and walked towards them. To the soldiers, a superstitious lot, the Keltish group looked like pixies: the tips of their garments fluttered in the breeze yet they did not appear to move, or even breathe. The weary travelers felt a stab of fear; had they stumbled upon a fairy city? The group of six Kelts – for that was what _M_ and the others were – appeared as though they had stepped straight out of the dark forest behind them.

The leaders of the large horde, six in total, walked steadily forward towards them. _They cannot __**all**__ be soldiers_, thought _M_, looking from one man to the next. Four of the leaders did wear the distinctive silver mail and crest of Irefort; _M _knew that they were the soldiers. One of the four was clearly a general; he carried a feathered helmet under his arm – a good sign _M_ noted – and his cloak was pinned with a rusted broach at his right shoulder: the sign of the highest man in a hierarchy. _M_ was quite sure he came from nobility; he had a certain swagger attainable only through a strong relationship to power and wealth. To the general's right were three more men, but strangely different. Whereas the soldiers gaunt and sweaty faces could be seen beneath their helmets, the faces of these three men were hidden in the shadows of their hoods and long black cloaks.

"Greetings," spoke the general.

They were close enough now for _M_ to see that the armor of the soldiers was crusted in dirt; especially at the hinges and in the chain mail making it difficult for them to move without creating a trailing cloud of dust behind them. _M_ imagined that beneath his heavy costume the general was drenched in sweat, but she could smell it on all of them anyway: traveler's grime. They stank.

"Greetings," Almar repeated.

"I am Ralick of Cur*, these men—" he gestured to the soldiers at his left and the hooded men at his right "—are my friends… we are traveling a great distance and ask that you might spare a little food and shelter for us and my people."

"Where are you coming from?" asked Eidolon. She was the only living female elder left in Kelt. Padma adored her.

"We bring evacuees from Dolør and Maläise from the southeast of Irefort. Wildfires have destroyed their homes… we must move them through the mountain paths to Montcéleste."

"That is a long way travel with such a large host," said Almar.

"Yes, it is," Ralick replied.

"Look at the children," _M _whispered to her sister, not taking her eyes off them; the feeble figures of the youngest ones worried her.

"Oh god…" Faye muttered as her focus settled on the starving mass behind the fields.

"Could you not have led your people to Irefort?" Malheur demanded. He disgusted Padma. He was the youngest of the council elders, but still, his temperament forced everyone to tiptoe around him.

"The city is full of evacuees," Ralick replied. "Every man I know fears the wild fires at this time of year when the crops and the land is dry—th—there's no room for a mouse in Irefort now… Montcéleste has always been an ally… they will help us…"

"…if you make it," _M_ spoke up. She was allowed, but the strangers stared at her as if she had just screamed bloody murder. "Your people are starving, especially the ch—"

"—how many are you?" Padma cut in.

"A little over two hundred milady," Ralick bowed his head slightly in her direction; a sign of respect.

"We might only just be able to house your sick and elderly within our walls," Almar said. "Our doctors and healers can attend to them immediately."

"Thank you," Ralick whispered reverently.

"It is no trouble," Almar assured him, "but I am afraid that the best we may offer the rest of you is our open fields… it is not much, but here you shall be safe and warm."

"Get your sick into the village now, and let the rest of your people know they may settle where they wish," Padma said, and, with a nod to his left, Ralick sent out the four soldiers to deliver the news.

As soon as they departed, the group of cloaked men lowered their hoods and the Kelts were able to finally able to see their faces. All of them were fantastically tall. The three men were all taller than _M_ and Faye by at least ten inches, taller than Ralick and his men by seven inches, and armed to the teeth. They also all had varying shades and lengths of brown hair and differed slightly in build: one was fat, the other thin, and the last was in the middle, but when _M_ looked closer it was not fat, or lack of thereof, that she was seeing; it was solid muscle. They were hired men. _Danger!_ A voice in _M_'s head screamed. _Danger! DANGER!_ These men owed their loyalty to no one: they were hired for it, paid in gold, trained to kill whatever or whomever they were told. Danger. Yet _M_, as only a young girl of seventeen, did not also fail to notice that beneath the grime of the road and minor scrapes, they were all exquisitely handsome: high cheekbones, fine, thin lips, and dark, deep-set eyes.

One of the strangers stared particularly at _M _with such an inquisitive gaze that she could not help but blush slightly. He was the middle one, shortest of the three, but at least six inches taller than _M_. She liked his hair; it did not look nearly as dirty as the others, and hung just above his shoulders in choppy waves, as though he had taken a hunting knife to it recently. He had the bluest eyes that _M_ had ever seen: dark, sparkling blue… as blue as the ocean.

* **Cur** means coward/mongrel dog/mean person. It's a dated insult, but still pretty nasty.

٭ **Kelt **I realize now that I might not have been too specific on this term. Sorry. Kelt is the small province in which their village is situated. Being **Keltish** or **Kelts **is really just like being _Canadian_ or _the Canadian._


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note IMPORTANT: Hi there! I hope that you are enjoying the story so far. Just a little warning; the latter section of this chapter deals with some heavy subject matter (rape) but I promise that there is nothing explicit or scary. Only an honest perspective.

- Heartly

P.S: The Ranger is _based_ on the character Aragon (who belongs to J.R.R Tolkein and not me). They do share similar aspects regarding their background and personality (only slightly!) and otherwise are mine. ENJOY!

**Chapter five: Vision**

For 'ere a sight I had never seen,

My own eyes I could not believe, nor

Trust that, which I had glimpsed so fleetingly

Through a stranger's eyes.

Faye had run to the gate, wildly waving a green scarf above her head and _M_ had watched her sister shout orders and urge the villagers into action. _Help!_ Faye had called for. _The sick, the dying, the elderly and children... Get them inside! _Now, the day had nearly passed, yet _M_ and the other doctors toiled without rest distributing food, water, bandages and blankets to anyone who asked. More than half of the evacuees had been moved into the village.

Villagers had opened their homes and the floor of the inn – the only real place for visitors to stay, and where most Kelts got drunk – was filled with mattresses containing the old and the children. Throughout the day, _M_ had been forced to roll up her white sleeves till they almost reached her shoulders. Her forearms and the front of her dress were covered in dirt and blood. _M_ had only briefly seen the children in the inn; they were as pale and frightened as their mothers. _It is strange_, thought _M_ surveying the little groups clustered round fires in the open field,_ that there are so many women and so little men._ Where were they?

_M _had no more supplies left by the time she decided to head home. She was surprised by how light her healer's bag was as she slung it over her shoulder; ordinarily it was always filled with herbs and bandages. The sun was setting as _M_ meandered through the fields. The wheat stalks brushing against her long skirt as she went. _M_ could not imagine ever leaving to leave her homeland. The sky, almost always an endless sea of blue, kissed the edge of the plains and the harsh, snowy mountain peaks of the southlands before the mountains' base turned into the forest, flowing all the way to Kelt like a green river.

"_Help me!"_

_M_ stumbled and gasped as a vision popped in her eyes.

"_Please! Help me!"_

Pain, sharp and obtrusive, shot through _M_'s temples before flooding into her eye sockets. _No! M_ thought, fighting back the images that were beginning to seep into her line of vision; they blocked out all else. _M_ tried to keep moving forwards towards the village. She had already seen that man die today. She did not want to see it happen again. He had not been much older than _M_, nineteen at the most. He had no one with him, she was the only one to cradle his head in her lap as he moaned and wept. A large portion of his jaw was missing when _M_ found him; as though it had been swiped off by a giant cat. The claw marks continued down his right arm and torso till it reached his stomach. Split open, his abdominals were spilling some of their contents. He had lost so much blood that by the time _M_ had reached him. However, all the blood that did remain in his body by the time _M_ had found him, seeped out slowly, staining her shirt and crawling up her arms till almost all of her was covered in the warm sticky juice.

"AHH—hhhh!" _M_ stifled her cry slightly, biting down on her lip, but even that did not prevent it from passing her lips.

Rivers of blood started to spring out of the ground in front of _M_ as she hobbled, rising up and staining the wheat it passed before joining and rushing towards her. _M_ did not breathe as the face of the young boy swam in her vision. She stumbled a few steps further before falling forwards on her hands and knees, retching before fainting.

xxx

The Ranger followed _M_ through the wheat watching her twine her fingers through the tall grasses; always watching. Watching every which way she turned her head, how she walked and moved between the rows. Could she hear him? Had she see him? The Ranger saw her stumble before she suddenly she disappeared, falling down to her knees before cracking her head on the only stone in the field. He rushed to catch up to where _M_ had fallen. Her hair swam round her head like smoke as she lay facedown in the soil. Gently, The Ranger turned her over onto her back. She broke into a fit of tremors and shakes, kicking wildly at everything around her, hitting The Ranger in the stomach with the heel of her boot.

"Ahh! Hold still," he said, gripping _M_'s wrists as she thrashed about. Her eyes stayed closed though, as if she were trapped in a dream. "I'm not going to hurt you."

_M_ continued to wrestle with The Ranger till eventually he had no choice; lying down on his side, he flattened _M_ to the ground, using his own weight against her own.

"I swear… I'm not trying to hurt you," he repeated, loud enough for only _M_ to hear, but she was in a place beyond his grasp. "Please! Stop…! You. Are… Going. To. Hurt... Yourself…" he said between _M_'s kicking.

_M_'s eyes shot open glossy and unfocussed before they locked on him. With strength beyond a normal human being, _M_ grabbed his shirt and pulled him close till their noses almost touched.

"Your coronet—" she whispered. "Th—the crow—the cro—"

"The what?" he said, interrupting her. "The crow…? What crow?"

"Crown," she stated. "The crown; _your_ crown and scepter," _M_'s voice changed again, as though whatever she had been fighting had taken a hold of her. "You _have_ lost them, haven't you?'

"Stop this!" he snapped, trying to pry _M_'s hands loose from his collar. "Stop this immediately."

"It could be yours if you want it…" she continued, dazed. "Fight for it… but you won't."

The Ranger shook his head in disbelief.

"Coward," she whispered, "coward…"

The Ranger released _M_'s hands as if he had been burned.

xxx

_Shhhh… Shhhh… _

Hush went the wheat stalks as the wind swept through them, waking _M_ from her dream of moon-dappled turrets and white marble halls. Starlight shone down into _M_'s eyes when she opened them. Shefelt that if she reached up she might be able to pluck a silver light from the millions of little pinpricks above her. Her bed of wheat stalks, crushed by her body, above the now-dewy soil made soft rustling and hushing noises as she moved. _M_ moved her arm to rest over her stomach sitting bolt upright as she realized that the bodice of her dress had been sliced open from the bust to her belly button.

"I'm sorry, I did that," said a voice.

_M_ looked around apprehensively before she found the source of the voice. It was the same strange man she had seen earlier: the one with the dark cloak and vivid blue eyes.

"I apologize, I have ruined your dress—oh no!" he cried, holding up his hands in surrender as a terrified look crossed over _M_'s face. "No! I would never—you were having a fit," he tried to explain, "and not breathing right. You weren't breathing at all actually…" he stopped speaking; _M_ looked a little lost. "Do you not remember?" he asked and _M _shook her head.

"You fell," he pointed to the ground. "I found you right here… lying face down in the dirt—"

_M_ stood up quickly and then regretted it. She swayed slightly as the blood rushed from her head to her toes before she stumbled away.

"—no, please! Wait!" the Ranger called, catching up to _M_ and spinning her around so that she faced him. "Please, listen… I—I swear… I _swear_ that I did not touch you." _M_ did not reply. She stared back at him. "I promise…" the Ranger looked _M_ straight in the eyes, the intensity of it making her feel like her own eye sockets were burning. His hands gripped _M_'s shoulders preventing her from swaying, but also stopping her from running away. "I swear to the gods I did not hurt you. I would not—not ever…"

_M_ nodded. "My bag," she said, pointing to the black leather lump on the ground behind him. _M_'s voice felt raw, like she had been screaming.

The Ranger reached down and, turning back to _M_, slipped the strap over her shoulder within seconds. _M_ turned away from the Ranger, making a beeline for the village gates. He hovered at her side.

"Please," _M_ whispered, holding one hand up, putting some distance between them. "…I—I just want to go home. Don't follow."

"At least let me walk you to the g—"

"No." _M_ said firmly. "Don't come… I don't want you near me any longer so—_please_!" she repeated. "…j—just stay away from me. Don't come near me again…"

With _M_'s last words still ringing in his ears, as sharp as a bee sting, our lonely Ranger let the beautiful _M _slip out into the shadows of the night. He did not speak again that night, or the next. The Ranger only heard the soft _shhh…_ of the wheat whispering in the dead of midnight.

xxx

The company left four days later heading for the mountain pass that would lead them all to safety. The quickest way to the mountains was through the forest. This was the way that Ralick chose to move them. Forced to trudge through the dense undergrowth and darkness in the thickest part of the woods, everyone would have to stay close… stay together. The evacuees flooded into the forest clinging to each other as they did so; a pitiable group they were, but also determined. The Ranger was the last to enter the forest. He had stayed clear of_ M_ as she had demanded, but now… now he looked back to her. The Ranger looked to her for something, though not even he was sure of what he searched for in her clear, young face before disappearing into the trees.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six: of Sceptics and the Fearless **

How vast is the unknown

That the orbit of planets and heavenly banks of stars unfolded

Should cast so great a light,

Still we lie in the presence of holiness.

Summer had almost passed; soon the last harvest would be collected. Ralick, his soldiers and the three ever-cloaked men-for-hire returned. The Ranger was always amongst them. The party returned to Kelt four more times bringing less and less evacuees each time, but staying longer as well.

"Wait!"

_M_ had planned to lend a hand to the farmers harvesting the last of the wheat, but upon seeing the Ranger she quickly turned around and began to walk back to the village.

"Wait!" he called out again, reaching _M_ in three strides. "Stop…! Please!"

_M_ stopped figuring that sooner or later she would have to speak to him; now was as good a time as any. Since _M_ wore pants and carried a short dagger with her she knew that she would be able to defend herself fairly well before getting away.

"What do you want?!" _M_ snapped.

For a second the Ranger said nothing, he only looked at _M_ as though his heart were breaking. The Ranger pulled a small black book out of his tunic pocket and thrust it into _M_'s hands. The book looked like it had been roughly handled: the spine was cracked and most of the pages were dog-eared, torn or stained by its previous owner. The paper itself was so thin that the writing looked like inky blue veins scratched on either side of the skin, and _M_ could cradle the book in one hand. Opened, the book was no bigger than both her hands, but the dog-eared pages looked so delicate that _M_ did not dare unfold them for fear that they would crumble. Slowly, she flipped through the pages gawking at what was written there: information on every species of plant, animal, and persons that _M_ knew to exist and many more that she did not.

The book provided information on land masses, countries, state lines, treaties, trade, food, population, physics, biology, sociology, literature, language, war, potions, witches, daemons, creatures, sprites, fairies, and every incantation imaginable. _M_ had never even heard of such things before. In the margins and between the lines notes were scribbled, almost undecipherable they were sometimes so small. The notes modified or added information, sometimes adding drawings and charts to go along with the descriptions.

"W—where did you find this?" _M _whispered, turning the pages to find even more illustrations and information about creatures of legend: trolls, vampires, golden lambs, undiscovered territories, pools of eternal youth… "Ho—where…? When did you find this? These… th—I have never even heard of most of the things written in here… have you read it?"

"Yes."

"Yes…and?" _M_ pressed.

"It's not my path," the Ranger replied coolly.

"What?!"

"It's not my path…" he repeated, "I know what's in that book and some of it I have seen, but it is not for me to discover the rest. I doubt that I would succeed even if I tried."

"But aren't you tempted?" _M_ asked.

_No_ was the Ranger's reply.

"No?! I've known people who would kill to be in possession of such a book: pools of eternal youth…? And spells for luck and wealth?"

"Yes, but not all those things can bring happiness… or lead you to it."

"So…" _M_ tried to understand. "…you refuse to follow anything in this book because you believe that it could never make you happy?"

"Correct."

"It would make me happy…" _M_ muttered. "You talk like an old skeptic."

"I am an old skeptic," the Ranger reasoned.

"Hmm, not that old…"

"Twenty-eight is old."

_M_ did not speak for another few minutes, but continued to flip through the book.

"I know I hurt your pride earlier," _M_ said, "but y—you should understand—you're a difficult person to trust."

"I know it," the Ranger muttered in return. "…but I am honest."

_M _nodded her head. "You know… I had a dream about you once, before we'd ever even met." If the Ranger looked puzzled he hid it well. "I—It must have been you because I recognize you only by your eyes…"

Both of them were silent another moment before _M_ continued.

"I was so frightened then, just as I was when I woke up in the field and found you not five feet away from me…" _M_ swallowed back tears that she did not expect. "You were a great black dog, in the dream… as big as the heavens and as black as midnight."

The Ranger just watched _M_.

"I a—am—I am sorry," she said, "if I hurt your pride… you are difficult to believe, but I—I do believe you now."

The Ranger cast his eyes down to the little book in _M_'s hands.

"Read it," he said, "I think that you will like it."

"Thank you," _M_ replied.

With that final word both _M_ and the Ranger parted.

xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Note:** This chapter is named after one of my favourite Smashing Pumpkins songs. It is also very long.

**Chapter 7: By Starlight **

Unfolded, dead eyes stare back to me, like

new corpse'd trunks that greenery no longer

should grace. Have I stolen that light?

Light that is blue and hazel fleck'd in the moon I worship

lies naked like open skin, stolen now,

with calloused instruments.

"_M_!" Faye called. "_M_!"

"What? What is it?!" _M_ shouted from her perch.

"Come…! W– What are you doing up there again?" Faye asked her sister who sat on the cottage roof, swinging her legs over the eaves' trough.

"Reading!" _M_ replied defensively.

"Fine. Well— it doesn't matter anyway... listen, Ralick and the hired men and a group of soldiers have come back from Irefort!"

"So?"

"They have silks _M_! Silks!" Faye shouted up to _M_ who remained seated, though she had stashed her book inside the breast pocket of her vest once more. "And—and gold! _M_! They brought silver goblets and sheets of mail, engravings… treasures you have never seen before _M_!"

"You can't be serious!"

"I am!" Faye laughed. "I am serious! And Almar wants Mama and the both of us there to accept them! Can you believe it?! You've got to come right now!"

"Right now?" _M_ asked.

"This instant!" Faye shouted back, impatiently waiting for _M_ in the vegetable garden below.

Every day since their last meeting over a month ago, _M_ had read the book the Ranger had given her fifty-seven times. _M _had even committed some passages to memory. The little book was only about an inch thick, but the paper was so thin that there were over a thousand pages stocked with information that _M_ read over and over again till the inky words danced behind her closed eyes when she slept.

Yards upon yards of silks in every texture and colour imaginable were presented to the Kelts along with a chest filled with enough silver and gold that it weighed more than half the village. Herbs and ointments, all the way from the Isle of Mone, were presented next. These treasures were handed to _M_, who stood between her family and the council of elders in the goléir*, placed in her arms, in her care. The goléir* was packed, families lined the walls and crowded round the supporting pillars, brushing shoulders and hands against cheeks, smearing away dirt from tear-stained faces. The gifts were lavish. All the elders and villagers were truly grateful and decided to throw a feast, praising Ralick and his men for their generosity.

In two days hence there would be an endless supply of food, wine and merriment provided for any man who wished to partake of the festivities. Banners and fresh garlands of wildflowers were strung from house to house, across long tables and benches set up by the woods uner the open sky. Fresh food was prepared; the women slaved over hot fires to creating the most wonderful dishes. The aromas of leek and onion stew, rye, barely, and wheat breads, goose and boar roasts, barley ale, some small creek fish, and a little goat cheese filled the air for the two days of preparations, putting _M_ and Faye in a constant state of hunger. The girls could hardly wait to sink their teeth into the delicacies they watched their mother and the other Kelt women prepare.

xxx

"Do not move," Faye whispered, applying the last touch of rouge to _M_'s lips.

Never before had _M_ allowed her sister to step anywhere near her with a pot of rouge or powder for fear that she would be painted into looking like a living doll. There was only a small touch of rouge on _M_'s lips, blended into a light rosy glow by Faye's delicate fingers. Faye, on the other hand, had applied a liberal amount of powder and rouge to her own face. Though she still looked beautiful _M_ had been unable to stop herself from wiping some of the gunk off of Faye's skin with the back of her hand.

Both of the girls wore a new dress. Made from the silk they had been personally given by Ralick – who had taken a shining to Faye – the pair of them looked exquisite, yet as different as the day from the night. Faye wore a dress of the deepest rose that faded into a sunrise red at the hem and had twisted matching ribbons into her hair. A tight bodice, cut low in the front, pushed up Faye's breasts, pulled in her stomach and flared out at the hips providing quite the jaw dropping display. However, _M_ still thought that Faye's real beauty could outshine her dress any day and was glad that the both of them would only be on display for one night.

"Alright," Faye muttered, stepping away from _M_, "you can look…"

_M_ turned and stepped in front of the small mirror in their room. She gasped, not believing the woman in the mirror to be herself at first. _M_'s dress was almost the same creamy white peach as her skin, the silk so fine that the layers of the dress floated around her body like a cloud. Though the dress was snug, it did not cling to her as tightly as Faye's dress clung to her curves, it had a long skirt that swept over the ground like dew across the grass. Never before had _M_ resembled her namesake The Goddess, until now. Elated that the dress was cut low in the back and not in the front _M_ shot a great beaming smile towards her sister.

"Let's go!" Faye said, grabbing _M_'s hand, dashing down the ladder and out the front door, her sister in tow.

_M_ and Faye giggled and whispered as they ran through the empty village streets. The feast had begun already; soon it would reach its twilight. Dashing past the thatched houses of the villagers,

the girls would have appeared as not part of the flesh, but of a different spirit entirely had they been seen.

xxx

The Ranger strolled through the feasting crowd, admiring the dancing and the pretty Keltish women. On this night, the women had strung ribbons and wildflowers in their hair and around their waists. It was the game of the night that anyone who was able to untie a ribbon from his partner's hair, or waist, could have a kiss. As cheeky as the game was, everybody remained obliging and courteous no matter what their state of intoxication was.

The crowd of dancers paused and parted slightly as the moon rose. Except that it was not the moon rising over the crest of the hill – for the pale orb had climbed over the land and darkness many hours ago. Luminous as the stars above and floating down through the parted crowd, _M_ glided towards the Ranger on starry beams of light.

"Hello," she whispered to him.

The Ranger felt his breath catch in his throat. What could one offer to The Goddess as she descended from the heavens that might dream of matching her beauty.

xxx

_M_ and Faye ate till their dresses became unbearably tight around their midriffs, then they ate and drank some more. Candles, torches, and any other light blurred in _M_'s eyes as she spun from the arms of one dance partner to the next. The halos of firelight reached out, touching the dancers, making them sweat and laugh while the blood and ale rushed through their heads.

"Ho—hold on," _M_ gasped, as her dance partner – a young soldier – spun her around in a circle again and again. "H—hol—stop! Stop, I think I might be sick…" she groaned, clutching her head with one hand and trying to push her partner away with the other. He held fast to her waist having not heard her. "Stop!" _M_ shouted in his face, bringing her knee up between his legs.

With a groan and a curse the young soldier sank to the ground, disappearing within the crowd of revellers. _M_ pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, one hand covering her mouth. She passed straight between Padma and one of the elders, who were having an animated discussion about the flight patterns of wolves whilst chugging on a pint of ale. _M_ had also heard her sister in passing, toying with Ralick before leading him to dance again despite his numerous protests and tipsy slurring.

Reaching a tree at the edge of the forest, _M_ clutched the trunk, wrapping her arms around it hoping to restore some order to her foggy, swaying world. A few minutes later, when the world stopped rocking and the wine stopped swimming in _M_'s head, did she realize exactly what she had stumbled into. Beyond the first line of cedars _M_ could hear the muffled groans and muted cries of ecstasy of at least dozen mating couples. Blushing, _M_ pushed away from the tree she clung to. Yet, a strange sort of curiosity gripped her, so she began a slow stroll past the first line of trees, heading deeper into the woods with each step. At first _M_ did not see anyone, only rustling branches. She could hear damn near everything.

"What are you doing?"

_M_ almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of the Ranger's voice in her ear.

"Nothing," she replied. "Don't do that!" _M_ hissed, staring him down. "I hate it when people do that to me…!"

"Sorry," the Ranger said, stepping up to standing beside her.

_M _did not say anything in return. She started to walk forwards again, deeper into the woods. The Ranger stayed at her side. She must have tripped over a root or something at one point; _M_'s hand found it's way into the crook of his elbow. The Ranger pulled _M _out of the path of an excited, giggling couple before they knocked her over.

"Thank you," _M_ said, before prying herself loose from the arms of the Ranger and beginning to walk back to the camp.

The Ranger was not entirely sure of what he had been thinking: one moment _M_ was starting to meander back to the fading lights of the festivities, the next he had grabbed her arm, spun her around and pressed her up against a near-by tree. _M_ gave a little grunt of shock as back made connection with the tree trunk. Otherwise, she made no noise.

He put his hands on her hips and moved to stand so close to her that _M_ could detect the faintest wisp of some exotic spice; cinnamon or anise. Eyelevel with his chin, _M_ could see the scar that ran across his neck from just below the right artery to his collarbone before disappearing into the neck of his tunic. _M_ ran the palm of her hand over the scar. The skin surrounding it was warm, and black stubble tickled her hand. Yet the scar itself was raised from the flesh like a hard callous: cold and immoveable. The Ranger did not move as _M_ ran her palm over the scar at his neck again, as if she were running her hand across the raised mountain range on a map.

_M_ dropped her hand from the Ranger's neck as he leaned closer, inclining his head towards her own. One of his hands moved to the back of _M_'s head, entangling itself in her hair. As _M_ closed her eyes she felt a light breath on her cheek followed by the brushing of his lips against her skin. Finally, the Ranger's mouth found hers. _M_ let her lips move against his.

The kiss was soft and slow. _M_ tasted a sort of sweetness as his tongue passed over hers, like cinnamon and sugar. The Ranger pressed his body to _M_'s; she sighed a little before gripping his belt and pulling him closer. It only lasted a moment longer; a tremendous crash and scream ripped through the forest.

_M_ broke the kiss. Pushing away from the Ranger and the tree, she starred into the darkness of the forest. Another second passed in silence and _M _began to doubt her sanity.

"AHHHHHH!"

The shriek came again. _M_ bolted into the woods; no hesitation, no questions. The Ranger followed.

"H—HELP! HELP ME…! PLEEEASE…! SOME—BODY! HELP ME!"

The screaming continued till _M_ and the Ranger found the girl. Lying in the fallen leaves and the dirt of a small break between the trees, the girl recognized _M_ immediately, though _M_ did not recognize her. _M_ approached the girl cautiously as she called her name, watching the trees for movement and watching the Ranger as he patrolled the ground around them; sword drawn. He was a man-for-hire once again.

Moonlight breaking through the canopy of pines needles afforded little light. _M_ could make out the shape of the girl but not her features. The girl clutched at _M_'s skirt till she dropped to her knees to soothe her.

"P—Pl—eeease—" the girl mumbled as blood began to dribble out of her mouth, down the side of her cheek and into _M_'s lap. "_M_… d—don—n't let it come b—ack… do—n't let it get m—me agai—ain—"

"Let _what_ get you?" _M_ whispered, stroking the girl's hair. "Let _what_ get you?" repeated more forcefully.

Her eyes were on the Ranger as he moved around them in a large circle, peering into the spaces between the trees. Occasionally he would swing the sword around sharply at something, but never for more than a second. The singing whoosh of the blade was enough the raise the hairs on _M_'s arms.

"It!" the girl repeated, the blood gurgled in her mouth till bubbles popped, spraying her cheeks with red flecks.

_M_ looked away from the girl's face. Blood matted the girl's hair; still wet from the long gashes on either side of her face. It looked like the work of mountain cats. However that would mean that they would be miles from their homes, several in fact; it was too far for the cats to travel, alone or with company. As the girl continued to shake, _M_ looked further down her body: a broken leg – twisted horribly, it would stay that way forever if the girl survived the loss of blood- and her chest had been kicked in.

_Her ribs must be broken_, _M_ thought. _She can not breath properly… because… because her lungs are punctured—o—oh god—oh god—_

"I—"

_M_ shushed the girl as the Ranger sheathed his sword and began searching, with his hands, through the bushes for the thing that had attacked the girl.

"I—It to—ok him—"

"—What?!" _M_ interrupted. "What took who?"

The girl did not reply she only began to weep.

"Someone else was here," the Ranger announced. "We should move her. Now."

_M_ turned back to the weeping girl whose eyes were growing wide.

"Who else was here? Was someone else here with you?" the questions rushed out of _M_'s mouth before she could stop them. "Do you remember his name or—"

"—he w—was…" the girl sobbed, pointing at the shadows behind _M_. The girl screamed.

_M_ turned just in time to see the Ranger draw his sword at the approaching shadow. Out of the darkness to which she had turned flew an arm and head, attached only by a few muscles and skin tissue, but through the base of the head a part of the spine could be seen. The dead man's face was still contorted into a mask of fear.

Carelessly tossed out of the forest shadows and into the opening, after hitting the ground with a dull thunk and squish, the head tore loose from the arm and rolled towards _M_'s feet. The girl in _M_'s arms screamed again. Out of the shadows reached a long spindly arm, ten times the size of any man's, black as smoke and smelling of rot and cadaver.

The Ranger lunged forward, slicing at the daemon's arm with both his sword and dagger. The weapons sang through the air, hacking ferociously at the thing. Irritated, the daemon swung the Ranger's sword out of his hands before swinging its gigantic arm again, sending the Ranger flying into the undergrowth. The daemon reached out again and grabbed the girl's ankle, pulling her into the shadows.

"NOOO!" she cried, clawing at _M_'s skirt and the grass. "HEL—P ME! _M_…! HEEEELP M—ME!"

_M_ scampered forward on her hands and knees grabbing the girl's wrists. For a second, _M_ was able to pull the girl a few feet forward. But the daemon was not prepared to give up its meal and began to drag the terrified girl back into the shadows.

"Don't let go," the girl whispered.

"NO!" _M_ screamed as the girl's grip relaxed and she slipped from _M_'s hands.

In the distance _M_ could hear the girl whimpering before _**SNAP**_! The silence that followed crashed down upon the woods. _M_ remained flat on her stomach, staring into the dark before a pair of massive black eyes wreathed in sickly yellow orbs stared back. _M_ s staggered to her feet. The eyes disappeared.

"No!" the Ranger shouted as _M _began to step into the shadows.

"Let me—let me go!" she bellowed, pulling at his arms, wrapped tight around her torso.

"_M_! _M_ please…" he whispered between clenched teeth. _M_ continued to struggle. "They're gone _M_… they're—" _M_ still wriggled in his grasp, but less forcefully now. "—w—we cannot get them back… they are beyond us now."

_M_ felt every muscle in her body slacken as the realization sank in and the girl's name came to her: _Madhu_*****. Her family were amongst Padma's strongest supporters and benefactors. She was the sole girl-child in her entire family.

_M_ pulled away from the Ranger as his grip on her loosened.

***Goléir** (spelt: go léir) means _all_ in Irish

***Madhu: **pronounced MAH – DEW.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: The Vanishing Act **

The sun ran not to the moon's side in the light of day while the call of duty still rang in his ears,

Yet still she shone bright in the heavens by night without him.

I will think of you thus: as wheat fields, kissed into gold by summer's touch,

And spinning into the wind like a dream torn from the Otherworld.

My thoughts will linger on your heart that I have now abandoned to the bitter cold…

"We ought to leave immediately," Ralick muttered, pacing in front of the fire that burned bright in Padma's hearth. Its light was the only source of warmth and goodness left in the village.

"And how do you plan to proceed home?" Eidolon questioned. "It is not nearly morning! What provisions do you have?"

"They shall survive," Ralick replied, pausing briefly to glace at his men. The look he directed towards them dared them to counter him. "They have gone many a night without food and rest before."

"This is not a time a time for rash decisions, my son," Almar spoke.

"Shut up old man!" Ralick cursed, stopping to spit vehemently into the fire.

"Watch your tongue!" the Ranger spoke up, silencing murmurs and whispers from the congregation of soldiers and elders in Padma's home.

"I beg your pardon—?" Ralick started.

"—Enough!" _M_ shouted. "No one is going anywhere tonight. We do not know yet what the daemons are willing to do to—"

" 'Sucuse me?!" Ralick whispered.

"—to you," _M_ finished. "They have not strayed beyond Keltish lands before, but I do not doubt that they would consider it good sport to hunt the rest of you."

The room was silent for a moment longer. _M_ felt Faye's warm hand on her shoulder.

"It was one of your soldiers that the daemon killed," _M_ whispered.

"Then it shall be at first light that we take our leave," Ralick concluded.

"I must request permission to stay then," the Ranger said, "Sir… these people would benefit from my protection. It is my duty to—"

"Your duty is to your contract, Ranger," Ralick whispered. "To its rules you shall adhere until your lord release you or otherwise."

_M_ looked from one man to the other, but neither uttered another word. The plan was then set. With the dawn only hours away, the soldiers and Ralick went to seek a bed and perhaps, if they were lucky, a warm body as well. The Ranger and his two men lingered by the fire till after the elders had departed. Faye clasped _M_'s hand and squeezed it tighter as Padma stood up from the table. The men were strangers in her home after all. The steely glint in her eyes would have startled any man, but the Ranger and his soldiers only huddled closer to them.

The tallest of the men spoke first to _M_. "You're very brave, wee lass. You ought to be proud of your girl," he then said to Padma, whose gaze immediately softened at the tenderness in his words.

"I am," Padma replied.

_M_ remained seated, partly out of fatigued and partly from shock as the huge gruff-looking stranger reached down and gently patter her on the cheek. He quickly shuffled out the door after touching _M_'s face.

"A blessing Amma?" the other man asked, extending his hands out towards Padma, palms facing up.

Padma smiled and placed two bundles of Keepsafe herbs in his hands. The man nodded his head towards _M_ and Faye in a small bow before departing. The Ranger was the last to stand before them, his loss for words evident. _M_ stood up from her chair after a few minutes of strained silence.

"Goodnight," he said, bowing his head respectfully to _M_'s mother and sister before leaving.

The Ranger had been unable to find the proper words to explain his desire to remain in Kelt.

xxx

_M_ shifted restlessly in her bed before kicking the sheets off. Slowly, the first glinting rays of the blood orange dawn crept into the small room casting _M _and her sister into shadow. The clip clip of hooves, distinctive even in the early hours, alongside the clinking of brass buckles, was the only sound _M_ could hear from outside. She leapt from the bed and scurried down the ladder.

A few paces from the front door stood the Ranger leading an enormous grey mare, bridled and packed for the departure. _M_ stopped a few feet short of the Ranger.

"I did not intend to wake you," he said, taken aback by _M_'s appearance. "I apologize."

"It doesn't matter. I was already awake," she replied.

Silence.

The Ranger fiddled with the horse's saddles before reaching into a side pocket of his tunic and pulling out a crumpled letter. He handed it to _M_ who took it hesitantly as though the pages were covered in arsenic. The Ranger's hand twitched slightly as she took it from him. The paper was torn a little in places, and the front, where the letter _M_ had been written, was smudge with dribbles of ink.

"Can I read it?" she asked.

"Well, its got your name on it does it not?" the Ranger replied, tightening the harness on the mare till she whinnied in pain.

_M_ did not hear the horse; she was busy tearing off the wax seal. The letter within was no more than six lines long.

_M,_

_I pray this letter finds you well and rested. Please forgive me for I must depart for the instructions that await me in Irefort. There is no doubt in my mind that I will, afterwards, be sent south, alongside many thousands of soldiers, to block rebel groups from the iron city. It had been my desire to remain in Kelt, not out of cowardice, but to lend my services to better protect your homeland. You are not safe here._

_I remain, always, your ally._

_ R._

_M_ did not speak immediately after she had finished reading, neither did the Ranger. The sting of the letter felt like the tip of a blunt blade wedged under her sternum.

"You weren't even going to say goodbye," _M_ muttered.

There were no questions from _M_; no time was left for them. The Ranger reached out to cup _M_'s face in his hand. She was so eerily beautiful in the light, but still such a child. Her nightshirt barely covered her knees, calloused and knobby like knots in string. _M_ stood barefoot, ankle deep, in the rich dirt. Her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows as though she was preparing to beat him with her boney knuckles. Yet her hands clutched his letter.

The only determinate of _M_'s true age was in her face: thick black lashes framed eyes that shifted from light blue to green as she stared at the Ranger in disbelief. There were eons of life in that face, unblemished and glowing like polished white marble. He brushed back the flyaways of _M_'s dark locks behind her ear without touching her skin.

"Seventeen," he murmured.

"What?" _M_ questioned, inclining her head to the left slightly.

"… Nothing," the Ranger replied, shaking his head and letting his hand drop to his side.

"Wait here," _M_ said before rushing back into the cottage.

_M_ was not quiet as she ransacked her mother's kitchen and storage searching for the Keepsafes they often handed out to travelers. The combination of herbs and simple charms could repel dangers like fog, small beasts, drowning, and was as powerful as a bonfire on cool nights. Finally _M_'s hand located a few Keepsafes at the back of one of the kitchen shelves. As she pulled out the Keepsafes she wrinkled her nose at the pungent musky odours that were emanating from the few encrusted so completely with dust that they were nothing more than sticky black lumps in her hand.

_M_ remembered that the last of the new Keepsafes had been given away already to the young soldiers that would soon be leaving for the city of Irefort. _M_ ran with the newest of the Keepsafes, a lumpy, cow patty coloured one, in her hand out the front door. Yet upon reaching the stony cold steps she saw that the Ranger was no longer there waiting. The Keepsafe fell from her hand into the mud.

xxx

The Ranger clicked his tongue again and the stony eyed mare trotted out past Kelt's gates, joining with the rest of the soldiers. Ralick sat at the head of the party speaking with an older man. Greying and thin, the older soldier nodded slowly as if accepting the order of his own execution and turned to the men.

"We make haste across the plains!" he bellowed, his voice a surprising bass-baritone for a man so slight. "To the city we must!"

Within seconds of the cry the Ranger was flying o'er the restless plains, the voice of the greying soldier fading to his ear as the vision of _M_, in her nightshirt, in the dirt, flitted across his mind's eye like a small raven flying in front of the sun.

xxx

_I do not imagine him leaving_— _M _thought to herself —_I cannot re-imagine him leaving without saying goodbye first. _

Padma snapped her fingers in front of her daughter's eyes and _M_ awoke from her daydreams. The knife in her hands moved once more over the dry rosemary and lavender, but the rhythm of the chopping soon coaxed _M_ back into her private thoughts.

In her mind _M _pictured the Ranger waiting stock still as she strung the Keepsafe around his neck before gathering her into his arms and embracing her passionately. _M_ would cry and the tears would slide down her cheeks as she watched the Ranger leave. Small and glistening white hot like the glare from diamonds, her tears would be tattooed upon her face until she saw him again. _This_ was goodbye.

Padma snapped her fingers once more at the stillness of _M_'s knife.

"Chop chop!" she said, reprimanding _M_ for her laziness.

What remained of Padma's clientele was desperate for charms and protection against the approaching winter. They could not afford to delay making the Keepsafes any longer.

"Stop it! I know!" _M_ hollered and slammed the knife down onto the chopping block.

Every rung of the ladder leading to the attic loft creaked atrociously as _M_ stomped her way up to the bedroom she shared with her sister. The hollow thunk of the attic door slamming echoed out to where Faye worked in the garden, a woollen scarf tied around her neck and upper body to close off the autumn chill. Faye almost abandoned collecting the last of the herbs and vegetables for drying and pickling. Her curiosity nearly drove her inside, but her knowledge of _M_ and her ways of distilling thought through silence kept Faye kneeling beside the basil.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Ces temps son dure... (These times are hard...)**

_I see in the muddied, frostbitten streets witches bodies__, beaten to death. In my visions they are my sister, my mother and me and yet I cannot close mine eyes to the horror of it. We live in dangerous times here. The very air we breathe is rationed and fear is bread so that it moves silently through our homes and into our hearts consuming us from the inside out till siblings turn on each other and friends take knives to one another's' backs. You need not fear the daemons of The Wild anymore for the black ills of the human soul have taken hold of us all and work to drive us past the edge of sanity, further than any non-human monster ever could… _

- Excerpt of a letter from _M_ to the Ranger

"No!" Faye wept, covering her eyes and falling to her knees in the dirt floor of the cottage.

"We cannot, mama," _M_ muttered, plying her mother away from the body of Almar.

Padma's fingers still clung to the lifeless flesh as though through will of being she could invoke the essence of being into the man's body once more.

"Mama," _M_ said, louder. "Mama come back to us. Come back, now...."

Faye continued to cry, rocking back and forth over her knees till she stirred up the dust beneath her legs. _M_ gently pried Padma's fingers off Almar's body; his skin had not yet started to turn grey. Even in death he looked peaceful. Padma finally relaxed her grip and let all of her weight fall back upon her youngest daughter who stumbled a little before sitting down on the floor, cradling her mother in her lap. Padma's arms fell loosely by her side while _M_ stroked her hair and kissed her face.

"Is there no where we can put him?" _M_ asked.

Padma shook her head.

_M_ looked up to where Almar lay upon the dining room table. They had found him moments earlier lying in a gutter as black and dirty as horse shit, twitching violently and vomiting. He was naked from the waist up and lying on the table amidst the crumbs of breakfast. _M_ wanted to touch him, prod him with a fork or something; she knew she could rouse him from his slumber if she tried.

The light from the doorway was barely enough to see by, but see Almar she could. To _M_ he was beautiful: his hair was whiter and thinner than she had ever seen, but it fell down like a gentle cloud around his head. His mouth was open; thin lines surrounded the lips that were parted slightly as though he were preparing to sigh. The palms of his weathered hands were facing up towards the ceiling; towards the sparkling heavens.

He was resting. _M_ reached out and placed her rough, warm hand upon his cooling one. She wished she could tell him that she loved him dearly and that he would turn his head and look at her. She wished that death was not so ugly.

xxx

_No Doctor or witch may sell goods such as: charms, Keepsafes, herbs, medicines or other similar prescriptions between the hours of sunrise and noon, and sunset and dark unless permission to do so is attained by both High Council__or Malheur and The Society of the Common Man._

_A witch shall not be permitted participation in the sales of goods of any kinds with normal peoples__ without the supervision of a guard ordained by either High Councilor Malheur or The Society of the Common Man._

_Head Doctors and witches shall submit their names, the names of their offspring, spouses, next of kin, apprentices and/or workfellows to the High Councilor Malheur._

_All D__octors, witches, healers, apprentices and/or workfellows will submit to the inspection of their homes and offices by the guardians of The Society of the Common Man, under the direction of High Councilor._

_Any pers__on or persons caught defaming or attacking the laws of High Council and its workers is punishable, by law. For every persons caught, twenty lashes shall be admonished, the addition of any statement made against High Council is punishable by five lashes. _

_Any Doctor or witch caught practicing a séance or other form of heresy is punishable, by law, to death. _

_Any supporter of a Doctor or witch, and any Doctor, witch, apprentice/workfellow who acts against reason and proper guidance to upset the natural laws of balance and harmony that govern our community is punishable, by law, to death. _

_M_ read twice over the list of rules nailed to her front door before ripping the parchment into halves, then quarters, and then finally into pieces so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle.

"Padma?"

_M_ turned around, standing a few paces away from her, was Eidolon.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Forgive me my dear, for an instant I thought you were your mother," Eidolon spoke, waiving her hand in front of her face as though clearing away smoke. "Are you not frozen out here in this kind of weather?"

"No, not really," _M_ replied.

Over her plain white tunic and brown leggings _M_ only wore a thin leather vest of poor quality, an old knitted coat of her late father's, and a woolen scarf. It was early into the winter season, but the wind was as bitter as the swinging blade of an axe and the days were not nearly long enough for the business of Doctors to be conducted. So, _M_ suffered silently alongside her mother and sister, neither of whom could afford to wear much more clothing than she.

Eidolon pulled her thick navy cloak closer around her stout body as she approached _M_.

"Is your mother home?"

"Yes," _M_ replied, "come in."

_M_ opened the front door letting Eidolon enter her home before she did, but not without reaching out her hand and touching the thick luxurious cloak.

xxx

_Safe._

_Ranger, when I received your letter I feared the worst had happened. Do the people in the mining lands still revolt? Are you sure that the city walls will hold if an attack is set upon them? Many of the villagers that have left Kelt in recent weeks have family in Irefort and so they have journeyed there to be with them in this time of great uncertainty. I lose sleep at night worrying for their safety while the surrounding areas are still plagued by gypsy war lords and rebels. When your letter came I feared that you were sending me a list of the names of the dead, it was so long__. It took me hours to decipher all the riddles you had placed within the lines. Why did you do it in the first place? If you wish to send such important information again please do not, battalion formations and attack plans do not bring me any cheer and the releasing of such information puts you and your men at even greater risk._

_It may seem strange, but my interests lie in the accounts you have sent me concerning the rebel leaders and their weaponry. How on earth did they find a way forge those great long swords of which you spoke earlier, without access to the mines? Do they really wield them like gods of old? I wish now that I had been born a man so that I could fight at your side in such a war, the accounts I would tell of my battles would be so great and fierce that they would be writ into the books of legend. And so I must beg of you to send me more of those sketches of rebels and powerful gods they worship, my hunger for such knowledge has become insatiable now that there is no work to be had here. _

_Indeed, it is true – many of the rumors you have heard are – they (The Society of the Common Man, under Malheur's orders, no doubt) have killed more witches: three this time. The first time they made a public display of beatings the victims survived, but now, when they are dragged from their homes, gagged and bound like dogs, in the middle of the night, it is rare that any woman survives the blows and worse. I fear they do worse to my people, but it is hard to say; there are no witnesses and if there are they remain hushed._

_I am sorry; my accounts thus far are gruesome. Hopefully, even though you are tied to your labor with chains as thick as sequoias__, any news you send will be more joyful than my own._

_Your friend, in battle and in mind,_

_M._

_P.S. Wherever did you find the bird?_

_M_ read over her letter one last time before attaching it to the leg of the little brown finch that hopped around her bedroom, chirping.

"Would you come here?" _M_ called out to the bird. "Please…"

The petite finch turned her head around and zipped over to where _M_ was seated on her bed.

"Leg please."

The little finch held out her left leg, letting _M_ tie the tightly rolled up letter around her ankle.

"Thank you."

_Chirp! _Went the bird and _M _laughed, puzzled by the intelligence of the little animal.

"Make sure he's alright, you hear? Don't let him do anything too brave or stupid… Can you do that for me?"

_Chirp! _The little lady said again.

_M_ scooped up the finch, cupping her hand so that the bird was nestled comfortable in her palm. As soon as she opened the window beside her bed, a gust of icy wind blew into the room making both _M_ and the finch shiver.

"Sorry," _M_ muttered before she tossed the little bird out of the window and into the arctic winter.

Somersaulting in the wind for a moment, the finch eventually gained her balance and set off south west, in the direction of the battle at Irefort.

_M_ shut the window tightly and stared out into the empty day of midwinter. Somehow, the frigid wind was still seeping into her room. _M_ pushed against the window again, trying to close it further. It would not budge. So, she tugged a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Lying on top of the square desk under the window was the letter the little finch had brought her. It was from the Ranger.

There was a chair on the opposite side of the room; _M_ dragged it over to her desk and sat down to read the Ranger's writings.

_Safe._

_It is strange to think that I have not seen you since the feast of early autumn__; no further past us than a season. M, I have heard terrible things; rumors of human sacrifice in your village find their way into our ears. Other such things I will not repeat, but they frighten me from sleep every night. I also fear that all the terrible suffering I have brought down into this world through strength of arms will not go unpunished. There are days when the rebels may gain a foothold in the land or battle, but they cannot hold it for long. They crumble and retreat and I am forced to pursue them until I have slaughtered enough men that the howls of their widows and children shall be like horns in my ears till the day I die. If Mars were the god of war, then I have become his usurper. I have become the almighty king of carnage._

_Everyday that I have counted – from the midnight of that autumn feast till the very moment at which I set this pen to write to you – has become ten times grimmer than the last. This land upon which I stand was once gold. Pouring out o' the mines o' the outlands of Irefort was a sea of priceless metals and gems too great to describe. The only things that pour forth from these lands now are turmoil and chaos; the two great bitches that ride us till we bend and break. _

_I do not want to return to you broken and bent like some old man. M, I am sorry. This place is dangerous, it can drive any man to heartache and I do not want to bring you that. My friend, __my sole comfort… your image I hold in my mind and it brings me hope; hope that at the end of my days I may leave this world in a better state than it was when I first entered it. You give me courage._

_I thank thee and remain your constant friend and ally,_

_R. _

_M_ sighed. _So much hurt_, she thought. _So much pain ties us together... Why is it that I am now the one with no courage?_ Standing up, _M_ held the woolen blanket, worn soft over the years, around her shoulders and sank down onto her bed. _It is as though my very soul has frozen along with the wastelands, M_ thought_, and all that I have hoped for has been stolen._

_M_ curled up on her bed, burying herself deeper into its warmth and down until the only noise she heard was that of her own breathing. Outside, _M_ could see lacy white snowflakes being blown by the wind into a delicate, looping dance. She shivered. It was too cold to remove her boots so _M_ left them on, but they were kept off the mattress. She was deaf in her frigid room to the burnings of witches outside in the village square. The scent of burning flesh had not yet traveled to her nose. _M_ cried herself to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Here's the next chapter! Sorry it took so long, but life has been really hectic.

-Heartly

**Chapter 10: Atropos **

…_Smoke and flames that yearn, yearn_

_Yearn for a body to burn, burn._

_Pitchfork and hammer that pierce, crush_

_Break down the bitches to dust, to dust._

_Blood in the gutters, blood in the mud,_

_Blood smears the shutters, blood stains the cud. _

_Use whips and chain to bind, to tie_

_Bind them to beg the hangman on high…_

- Excerpt from a Keltish poem found shortly after the gypsy raids. The author is unknown.

Padma reached forward and tugged at her daughters' ratty cloaks; their shoulders turned slightly at the pull. Padma tugged again, harder, but the girls still faced the scene in front of them. Eidolon wore a simple cotton shift stained by a week's imprisonment and stood on the scaffold, trembling. The girls were blank faced and slack-jawed, and would not look away.

Malheur read aloud to the villagers the list of crimes committed by Eidolon.

_Association with disturbers of the peace_

_Disturbing the peace_

_Intent to assist in the trading of illegal goods and substances (as listed in __Article: The First__ – year 1142 of the mid-season) _

_Leader of the rebel herd __Iunctus Populus __– acknowledging leadership alongside the executed John of Radbod _

_Attempt to halt the execution of the apprentices of Inna of Wheritin_

_Attempt to halt the execution of the Doctors Kail, Baedden, Rockwell, Cal, Morgan, and Gareth_

_Treason _

Eidolon said nothing. Yet the tongues of the villagers surrounding her emitted sparks with each piece of malice they voiced. Like lashes their whispers and mutterings snapped in the air, the life of each phrase no longer than a second's sting, but oh! How Eidolon burned already! Her feet… her calves… her fat thighs… then her belly, arms and neck. She was slowly scorched by the villagers' whisperings before they even set the flame to the slick, oiled wood of the pyre.

Padma grabbed her daughters and yanked them through the streets by their hair so she could keep their faces parallel to the ground. Eidolon's shift was ablaze and flesh turned to red, bubbling, blisters.

Padma heard the voices of the villagers but could not make out their words. Faye whimpered and _M_ struggled violently in her mother's grasp. Padma could divert the girls' eyes from the scene, but she could not close their ears to it. Nor could she prevent the scent of skin ablaze from reaching their nostrils.

"Cook the meat! Cook the meat!" People shouted. "Cook the meat!"

Eidolon's vocal chords were roasted before she gave in to scream.

xxx

_M_ lay curled up beneath a heap of blankets and sweaters. The smell of burnt skin, an oily, pus-like scent clung to the soft surfaces of her home: the hay in their mattresses, the sheets, clothing and even their own hair reeked of it.

In the dark, Faye rustled about in her own bed across the room.

"_M_," she whispered, but _M_ ignored her, feigning sleep. "Oh don't play fool!" said Faye again. "I know you're awake— I know how your mind works."

_M_ turned to face her sister.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Faye asked. "Have I done something?"

"No," _M _replied, "no... Why would you think that?"

"You haven't spoken all day… not since Ei—" Faye cut herself off. "—not since this morning."

"Well what would you like me to say, huh?" _M_ spat. "It's not easy—living—this way—at all." Hiccups interrupted _M_'s statement. "I don't—have anything to say…"

Faye looked at her sister. In the dark she could not tell if _M_ was being sarcastic or cruel; she was difficult to read now.

"Mama wants to leave soon," Faye started. "She wants for us to leave here quickly."

"Did she tell you that?"

"She tells me many things she does not tell you _M_," Faye replied.

_M_ kept her mouth shut.

"…I want go to Mone," said Faye.

"What?" _M_ muttered. "To the island?"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"Because I am not like you or mama… I cannot—I'm not—" Faye sighed, frustrated. "I know only that I want to go." At this _M_ sat upright in her bed. "I will not ever marry _M_… I see myself in old age, yes, but alone... So, I will go study with the Druids and the Priestesses and I will be much happier there than anywhere else in this scrap of land."

xxx

"You ought to go with her."

"But I don't want to!" _M_ shouted at her mother. "I want to stay here, I want to fight this! Mama… pleeease!"

"NO!" Padma hollered, striding across the room to grip her daughter by the shoulders. "No you can't, I won't have it!"

"_M_, stop," Faye called out.

"I won't cower!" _M_ spat. "**You** can't stay here and expect us not to as well! I won't go!"

Padma shook _M_ furiously so that her head bobbed like a dandelion in rough winds.

"NO!"

"I don't want to leave mama," _M_ sputtered, surprising both Padma and Faye with the change in her tone. "I don't—I don't want to—want to go!" _M_ started to hiccough.

"Of the thousand other alternatives," Faye said, "running away is the best."

"But this is our home!" _M_ whispered. "This is our home…! There!" she cried, pointing to a smudge on the rock wall. "I fell when I was little and cracked open my head there!"

_M_ pointed to the paneled up window by the door. "And we built that," she shouted at Faye, "after Carson ran his ox into our house!"

"And I made that!" she cried, reaching up to pull down the diögeu* that was strung from the ceiling. "I made this… to keep us safe."

Padma and Faye looked at _M_, their expressions contorted into that of a group of mourners.

"I've put my blood into this home…" _M_ pleaded, cradling the diögeu* in her palm; the soft light bathed her face in a warm haze. "These rocks are my bones now… I cannot run."

Silence.

Faye pulled her sister into her arms, cooing and stroking her hair gently. To her, _M_ still smelled like baby ferns in the earth. Padma stood an arms length away, but she also reached out and twined a lock of _M_'s hair around her fingers.

"We will have to leave with the first snowfall then," she said. _M_ sifted in Faye's embrace to watch her mother choose her words. "Pack your things tonight though," Padma cupped Faye's hand within her own while her other fingers worked diligently to ease some of the tangles from her youngest daughter's hair. "…Just in case."

* * *

***diögeu** – taken from the Welsh work **diogelu** meaning safeguard.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: From Wrath to Ruin **

"…when oft I pass them shadowed realms of yonder

my eyes I cast aside and search for others

that hath believed so truly, as I once did,

upon the promise of a life lived.

In goodness and holy truth

silent thou shalt ever lie in sleep,

and when need of thee arise

to the dawn I'll cast mine eyes

for thou art gone from this stricken life."

- Excerpt from the remains of a Keltish holy book. Passage 23:23

The hammering of knuckles, of bone, flesh and muscle came quickly upon the door.

_**Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!**_

Padma grabbed in the dark for a shawl which she very soon found, and wrapped it around herself. Upstairs, the girls awoke from their deep sleep and threw off their blankets. The stone cold wood beneath their feet jolted them and they stumbled, bumping into each other before rushing to the window and peering outside into the pre-dawn lit village.

Below stood seven men at least, garbed in the fog from their breath and dark woollen coats. The smell of oil and torchwood drifted up to the girls and they pressed their hands against the frost as though pressing against the advance of an unwanted suitor.

"Open this door immediately!" came voice from outside.

"One minute…!" the girls heard their mother shout back.

Faye and _M_ opened the door in the floor and rushed down the attic ladder just as Padma opened the front door of the cottage.

Moving slowly to their mother who stood in open doorway enshrouded by light, the first phrases spoken by the torch men was lost to the girls. Yet soon the decree being given by the man behind the light of the torches became clear.

"… Will seize all property—"

"—what?"

"All monetary funds and items of value and/or suspicion will also be placed into the care of High Council—"

"—but my children—"

"—until such a time is designated in which items of heritage may be passed to descendants."

"What did you say…?" Padma muttered. She was as stiff as the stones in the stream. _M_ clasped her mother's hand tighter and Faye let loose a barely inaudible _no_.

"—and will escorted to Garchär*—"

"—please…" Padma tried. "My children—"

"—Are children no more," Malheur stated, "but if they wish they may accompany you to trial. In death they might guide your pitiable soul towards redemption."

The torch men seized Padma.

"No! No no no…!" _M _screamed as the torch men began to drag Padma away.

"No!" Faye cried out. "No, stop! Please…! Mama! No!"

_M_ latched onto one of the torch men dragging her mother away. Wrapping her arm around his neck _M_ squeezed until her victim gagged, but he quickly threw her off as though she were nothing more than a mosquito. Thud. _M_ fell on her arse. The frozen, muddy soil did nothing to cushion the impact.

Padma, screaming like a wounded bear, broke free of the two men that held her, butchering their faces with her nails, and raced towards where _M_ lay in the dirt. Faye rushed forwards driving her shoulder into the ribcage of one Malheur's henchmen.

"AHHggg—" wrapping his hands around her neck, one of the torch men threw Faye to the ground.

"No!" Padma hollered again, sliding to a stop between where _M_ lay sprawled in the dirt and where Faye was now screaming for help.

"SOMEBODY!" Faye screamed. Her voice resonated throughout the village. "HELP! No! Get your hands OFF ME…! PLEASE, HELP! HELP US! Get your—no! No! Stop it!"

"Let go of her you—!" Padma shouted vehemently as Faye continued the wrestle against the brawny torch man of Malheur's. "Don't you dare—" Padma began before she too was grabbed by three torch men.

_M_ stumbled to her feet. "… You bastard!" she shrieked, rushing towards Malheur who stood a few feet from the scene. "You BASTARD!" _M_ shrieked again slapping Malheur across his face. Spit flew from her lips, striking Malheur's elegant robes.

Malheur scurried away, followed by two of his henchmen as Faye screamed violently again.

White noise sparked like embers in a too-hot fire. Crashing down and assailing the eardrums as though they were an everlasting sea of icy, white crested waves breaking upon towering rock cliffs.

Hollow wails and tethered beast. The raging mother and feast of screams fill the air, but our girl does not hear. Our _M_ does not move with the whorls of snowy wind that sweep over the freezing skin of her mother's bare feet and hands as she cries in agony.

A girl in the dirt, as exposed as the earth, is lying on her back. Her skin is chaffing from the jagged rocks in the frozen, exposed soil. Her knees and shins turn white as the hair upon them stands erect, shivering. Her backside is bruising against the rocks as her nightshift is pushed over her hips.

A break in the waves. The ocean floor is seen.

A fist met _M_'s lips, the blow sending her face first into ground. The nightshift she wore ripped at the knee; the fabric was as fragile as a moth's wings from age. _M_ spat. Blood, mixed with soft, rosy pink pieces of flesh from the inside of her mouth, sprayed the ground.

"Hhh," _M_ gasped, an almost sigh-like sound, faster than a cough or pant.

Padma cried again. "Stop this! Stop! Get away from my daughters or I'LL KILL YOU…! AHHHGGGRR! NO! No no…! Get OFF her NOW! You bastards!"

"Get off me…!" _M_ growled as the torch man who hit her rolled her over onto her back, pressing her down with a hand on her ribcage, and on her shoulder.

"YOU BASTARDS…!" Padma screamed like a wild boar in fright. The three men who had seized her struggled as Padma pushed and fought against them using all her bodyweight.

"—SONS OF BITCHES! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU SONS OF BITCHES…!" Padma gnashed the face of the youngest torch man restraining her. The sour metallic tinge of the man's blood coated Padma's teeth; dribbling into her mouth as she ripped apart his cheek and neck.

Faye moaned softly raising her arms to push away the weight on top of her. He covered her mouth in response, continuing. Faye could smell the grimy mud and oil from the torches in the lines and blisters of the hand covering her mouth. It was the same smell she would often come across when working on the garden. Handfuls of dirt as dry and lifeless as dead leaves in late autumn slipping through her fingers… spewing back the water she tried to feed it; a floating dark brown film over her eyes.

"Stop!" _M_ muttered through clenched teeth as the torch man tried to push up her nightshift with one hand and hold her down with the other.

"Ahhg!" _M_ coughed as his hand closed over her throat and squeezed.

Stopping her wild kicks for a moment, _M_ tried to pry loose the skinny fingers circling her air pipe. The torch man dropped himself onto _M_, he weighed not much more than she, _M_ could feel his ribcage through his heavy tunic and coat.

"YOU BASTARDS! NO! NO…! MY GIRLS! BASTARDS!" Padma's cries slowly faded and slurred as a gag was shoved into her blood coated mouth.

xxx

The young man, whose cheek and neck the witch had ripped apart with her teeth, dragged himself into the wagon the torch men had brought with them. Into it the witch was tossed as carelessly as one tosses a bag of coal. Her hands and feet were bound with a series of ropes and rags that reeked of horse and rot. The two other men were left behind to deal with the witch's girls and amass everything in the small, rundown cottage for High Council.

xxx

He was grunting, trying to hold down _M_ with his body while his hand was still around her throat. _M_ heard the click of his belt buckle unsnap. _No_, her mind cried. _M_ loosened one hand to beat against the shoulder of her attacker before dropping it. She was hungry; she was tired and shivering from the cold.

_M_ felt the icy dirt brush against her fingers. She heard Faye scream again and fumbled around feeling the ground above her head. Yes. _M_ extended her arm and dug her fingers into the dirt, crying as she scraped her palm on the jagged gravel imbedded in the soil. Clasping her treasure firmly in her hand _M_ raised her arm and swung.

**Crack!** And then, **crush.** _M_ drove the rock in her palm into the head of her aggressor. Breaking, like the shell of a hardboiled egg under a spoon, the torch man cradled his head where he had been stuck, and rolled off of _M_.

_M_ struck him again and he slumped forwards onto his hands and knees, crawling. She threw dirt, gravel, mud, stones, anything within her reach, at the torch man as he staggered away cursing her.

_M _grasped her jagged rock tightly and stumbled to her feet. Faye was still and silent beneath her assailant.

**Smash!** _M_ ran forwards and launched her rock at the man's head, the power of a canon in the strength of her arm. _M_ then picked up a small log and beat Faye's assailant from off of her.

"You bastard!" _M_ spat and she brought her club down upon the man again and again and again.

_M_ did not say another word as she sat down upon the chest of the torch man and began to beat his face with a stone. His nose broke as _M_ swiped the stone across his face. She broke his teeth, making enamel, spit and blood splatter across his face. He did not struggle and began to choke.

His gums were already rotted: his breath reeked. _M_ hit him harder.

**Crunch** went his cheekbone as the log sank into his flesh, turning the sallow bearded face into a mask of red and dark maroon.

_M_ breathed heavily. Slowly she lifted herself off of the torch man's chest. She dropped the stone and it fell with a dull thump.

Silence.

_M_ continued to look down upon the face that bore the marks of her blows. _Oh God_, she thought. _Oh God._

"Hhh!" Faye inhaled sharply.

"Faye." _M_ rushed over to her sister who still lay in the dirt a few feet away, covering herself with her hands. "Fayevin…" _M_ whispered pushing her sister's matted hair away from her eyes.

Faye did not meet her sister's gaze. Instead she pulled at her nightshirt once more covering her thighs and the bruises that were forming there. _M_ looked at her sister and scooped her up into her arms like a child. Faye rested in _M_'s lap, silent and unmoving till they both began to shiver.

A few lone snowflakes floated down to rest on Faye's hair and eyelashes, sparkling brilliantly before disappearing. Faye and _M_ did not speak and the village stayed hushed, shamefaced, as the sky began to lighten to a dull greyish pink. _M_ clutched Faye tightly, wrapping her arms around her sister's neck and shoulders. _M_ pulled them both to their feet.

Faye leaned on _M_, relying on the strength of _M_'s body to keep her afloat in the frosty dawn. One arm she wrapped around her not-so-little sister's waist, the other clung to the back of _M_'s nightshift as they shuffled out into the middle of the road.

Faye thought she could smell the sweet, tangy scent of ripe oranges as she buried her face in _M_'s hair, and the distinct tinge of cinnamon on her breath as they stood so close together. But no more than a dream... Their breath turned to vapour in the same way that frost coats the earth, now desiccated. The girls had not caught the last glimpse of their mother as she had been dragged away, bound and gagged like a beast to slaughter.

* **Garchär** is Welsh for jail.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry this took so long to write and upload. I'm breaking my new year's resolution already… damn.

-Heartly

**Chapter 12: Nai**

Naught is as it once was…

_M_ wrapped her arms around Faye, pulling her closer for warmth. Together in Faye's bed, the girls had the blankets bunched and piled around them so that their bodies sank down into the makeshift nest.

_M_ rested her head on the pillow, but in Faye's hair _M_ also buried her nose while her arms encircled Faye's waist. _M_'s feet and shins rested behind her sister's, barely touching. Faye had shut her eyelids a few hours past yet she still held tightly to _M_'s hands as though clinging to a scrap of laundry as it is pulled through the wringer.

The girls had not changed before they crawled into bed. Yet the winter's dirt, clinging to the hem of their nightshifts like permafrost, did not stain the sheets.

xxx

_M_ heaved the sac she'd slung over her shoulder into the small horse drawn cart. Sighing heavily she pushed the sac further in towards the feet of the children crowded there.

"She has some bread, some cheese, and plenty of water," _M_ said to the farmer as he tucked a blanket around his children, tickling them gently with the rough woollen fabric. He smiled as they giggled, the skin at the corner of his eyes wrinkling like crumpled parchment.

"I'm sorry it's not more," _M_ muttered as the farmer turned to face her. She pressed a few silver coins into the man's calloused hands. "Please," she whispered as the farmer frowned and tried to push the coins back to _M_. "Please…" _M_ repeated. "Please. It's for the children and the toll at Irefort."

"I canno' thank you enough," the man said, tucking the coins into the inner pocket of his coat.

"Just get her safely to where the rivers cross," _M_ replied as she looked to Faye who stood a few yards away from them, staring at the village walls.

The farmer nodded.

_M_ looked to Faye again. Faye did not see the silence that had descended upon Kelt. It was still early morning.

_M_ walked over to her sister, stopping to stand in front of her and slightly to the left.

"Yann will take you to the first crossing of the great rivers," _M_ spoke, looking to the village walls and then the mountain range that separated Kelt from Montcéleste. "From there you will part and follow the river north till you reach the City by the Sea…" at this _M_ turned around and watched at her sister. Faye had now lowered her eyes, but _M_ was doubtful that Faye could even see her own feet. "Keep alongside the river till you reach the City…" _M_ moved towards her sister, placing both hands on her shoulders. "…Then take the first ship to Mone. Do not dawdle. Stay swift and alert, don't stay in one place for too long… avoid other travelers and pilgrims if you can."

_M_ removed her hands from Faye's shoulders.

"Mama would have wanted it this way," _M_ stated.

"What way?" Faye snapped. "Like this…?" _M_ did not speak. "Mama is as good as dead and still y—you try..." Faye shook her head violently from side to side as if to banish the image of Padma from her thoughts. "I think you would rather crucify yourself alongside all the other witches who've burned then—"

"—Then what?!" _M_ demanded. "I only wish to see you safe and you hate me for it… forgive me for I know not what else to do."

Faye was silent for a heartbeat, but then raised her hand to her mouth, shut her eyes, and began to weep.

_M_ moved towards Faye and wrapped her arms around her.

Faye continued to cry.

"I—I'm sorry," Faye whispered into _M_'s shoulder in between sobs. "I don't know what has come over me…"

_M_ hugged her sister tighter before pulling away, taking up Faye's last traveling bag, and leading her to the cart.

Faye hopped up beside Yann wiping away the tears and clutching her bag tightly to her chest as soon as _M_ handed it to her.

"Travel safely," _M_ spoke to Yann who nodded his respect to her in turn.

Faye reached down and clutched her sister's old coat of wool.

"Say that the elders may speak with one voice, in reason," Faye whispered, "and peace find you…"

Yann flicked the reins and urged his horse forwards. Faye let go _M_'s coat refusing looking away from her little sister's face till _M_ was no more than a dark speck in the fields.

Faye's parting words shot through _M_'s mind like solitary hawk soaring through the sky, passing heaven, and scratching the vast realms of space with the tips of its claws before hurtling back towards the ground. The beating heart in the earth drew it home.

xxx

The wooden buggy clunked through the frozen streets of Kelt. The din and clamour of the turning wheels the sole sound throughout the village. Padma stood, wobbling from the lurching of the buggy pulled by slow ungainly horses.

Her hands and feet were chained, her wrists and ankles blistering from the rough metal and the intense cold. Padma furtively glanced, out of the corners of her eyes, at the silent crowd lining the streets. They gathered to watch her burn.

Padma turned and looked over her shoulder as the horses stumbled on the new ground and began their slow trot towards the stage: her pyre. This new ground was littered in the oily black and smoky grey ash from the fires before hers. The faint scent of cooked, human flesh still lingered, permeating the earth and attracting the crows.

"Mama…!"

Padma turned, looking away from the stage back through the villager lined streets.

"Mama!" Padma heard screamed again and watched as her youngest daughter raced through the thoroughfare following the trails of the buggy wheels and horses' hooves.

_M_ stood out amongst the darkened browns and greens of the villagers like a black mote of dust in the white winter snow that began to fall like shimmering lace from the heavens. Padma watched as her child ran, grasping at the air, desperate to reach her.

Padma waved timidly at _M_ who panted as she pumped her legs those last few strides to reach her mother. _M_ launched herself forwards grabbing the bars of the cart and pulling herself up onto it with a clatter and a bang, coming face to face with her mother.

"Mama," _M_ gasped as she leaned over the railing of bars and held her mother tightly in her arms.

Padma smelled sweet and sour, like curdled milk and _M_ could feel the bone of her mother's clavicle poking through the skin. Dressed in burlap shift with her hair hanging down her back in knots, Padma did indeed resemble a witch now and not the elegant, beautiful doctor she had once been.

"Oh, my love…" Padma sighed, staring at her daughter's face. "Oh… my beautiful, valiant girl…"

_M_ began to weep, a trait she had hoped to be rid of for she had not cried since she received the Ranger's first letter from Irefort.

"I had not hoped to see you one last time. Every night I prayed you would make it safely to the Island with your sister."

"I came to rescue you," _M_ muttered, holding tightly to Padma's wrist.

"You are so much like your father…" Padma whispered.

"… run," _M_ begged. "… Run mother…! I can fix this if only you run, please."

"I love you," Padma mouthed as though her girl were an infant once more and could not understand her words. She pushed _M_ off the cart.

xxx

_M_ felt her backside hit the ground and watched as the horses and buggy stopped their procession before the stage and pyre.

"Hhh—" _M_ gasped, aching from her fall.

Slowly Padma was hoisted out of the cart and dragged up the steps and onto the stage by her hair.

"No!" _M_ cried, rushing forwards. She pushed through the crowd of villagers that began to form in front of the stage.

"Let this woman—" Malheur began.

_M_ elbowed and shoved, forcing her way through the thickening hoard.

"—as an example of the hellish qualities of her race!"

"No! Let go of me! NO!" _M_ shouted as she was grabbed by one the guards of High Council.

"—for the breaking of our laws!—" Malheur's voice carried over the crowd like the violent winds sweeping over the seas.

_M_ twisted and squirmed in her captor's arms as he restrained her. _M_ shouted, calling out her mother by name in hopes of encouraging her to run and be ride of this torturing state.

The falling of the snow thickened as it drifted lazily down in its simple dance.

"—heresy!" Malheur spat.

Padma sat in slump on the stage, her eyes wild with fright though her hands and feet were loosened from their chains.

"—treason!—"

_M_ kicked violently, digging her heels into the ground. The cloak she wore over her coat was swinging; its fringe sweeping through the dirt.

"—a witch…" Malheur finished staring down at Padma with his venomous snake eyes.

_M_'s breathing stopped, she stood in the embrace of the village guard restraining her.

Two men, one on either side of Padma, gently hoisted her to her feet and led her to the stake in the middle of the platform. The village watched as Padma's hands were tied above her head and her feet bound to the bottom of the stake with a series of loops and knots.

Then the firewood, soaked in oil, was piled around her, leaning against her legs and the exposed sides of the stake.

A man walked up the stairs to the stage carrying a lit torch. Every eye in crowd followed his steps as he took them slowly towards Malheur. Malheur grasped the torch in both hands, speaking as he did so, but _M_ heard him not. She only watched as Malheur handed the flame back to the village man and walked away.

Left alone on the stage with Padma, the cursed man strode forwards, hesitated a moment, and then dropped the flame at Padma's feet.

White noise falls; a curtain of snow.

One hand outstretched, palming the emptiness, the air.

A palliative calm descends as softly as a hush and whisper.

And _M_, still as the crowds that gathered to watch justice's performance, now sees no dancing colour nor any other form but that of a woman being consumed by flame.

"!"

_M_'s scream is so shrill and pure in its agony that in no recorded history has any note breached the barriers of silence to such a profound degree. This is the first wailing song ever sung.

xxx

The crowds had lingered till the last of Padma's flesh had bubbled and broiled and the stage upon which her pyre had been set burnt to the ground. _M_ lingered, waiting. Slowly, _M_ moved towards the remains of the stage – nothing more than black ash carpeting the soil – and sank to her knees.

No tears fell. No sighs passed her lips. The stillness of the village, its streets emptied, encircled her.

_M_, her back slumped, reached down, spreading her fingers in the soft soot as though tracing the curves of the ground beneath. Her hands blackened.

_Mother…_ she thought.

Almar's words of prayer, spoken once, long ago at her father's funeral, passed through her mind.

…_May these drumming hearts be not sundered _

_But their sound crest the hills yonder_

_And this body we've broken be renewed._

_Take into your house,_

_To your hearth, this lonely traveler_

_Warm their bones with our sorrow…_

_Mother… M_'s mind whispered and she stared at the ashes cradled in her hands.

_Nai…_

_Mama…_

_Mother…_

* Nai – (in case you were curious) is Welsh for mother


	13. Chapter 13

Hello. So, if anyone is reading this at all anymore because I've been terrible and haven't updated in months… I hope that you enjoy it. I plan to finish the next chapter by Sunday at the latest. Wish me luck! And I hope you like the chapter.

- Heartly

**Chapter 13: The Door in the Floor**

Through the dividing places,

Where fragmented light and shadow combined,

She passed through.

To a realm only pilgrims and vagrants know,

From loss of faith,

She passed through.

And up from the underworld's sanctity and sin,

Bearing fruit from her labours,

She passed through.

_Safe._

_And yet you, my friend, are not. Your letter I will have read barely a fortnight past once you receive mine. But know that every hour between them, each one, weighs upon my mind. There is no progress to be made in Irefort. The city sleeps while only miles away their kinfolk fall to the hatchets of soldiers. The corruptness of the politicians runs so deep here. I do not sleep. You must get out of Kelt. Get out before Malheur sends his men after you. Follow the mountain range north east until you reach the Seaside City. Move quickly. I will meet you there within the month. _

_Though this war of Irefort will not be over by the month's end I will be by your side and shall be happy. I cannot permit your life to end so brashly._

_M, make haste._

_ R._

_M_ reread the Ranger's letter before she tucked it into the black notebook he had given her with the other letters. _M_ set the notebook down on the kitchen table beside her. Her mind did not spin. The Ranger's decision to desert his contract to Ralick did not shock her as it might have months beforehand.

**Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!**

Heavy knocking on the cottage door interrupted any further thoughts. Looking up, _M _quieted her breathing.

"Open this door!" Malheur's voice was muffled slightly by the thick wood. "Open this door immediately!"

_M_ sat still, a small thought played at the back of her mind that perhaps if she made no sound the intruders would believe her either dead or gone.

The knocking came again, twice as loud and long enough to rattle the bolted door in its frame. The same threats were repeated.

For a moment, in the after-silence, _M_ believed that Malheur and his men retreated. And then she heard him. Clear and concise, Malheur made his announcement to the entire village.

"If any person is found to be harbouring the daughters of the traitor Padma… turn them out immediately! Turn them out immediately and your lives will be spared!" Malheur trumpeted.

Not a soul in Kelt breathed. _M_ ached from hardly moving, but she waited and watched the cottage door for any sign of action on the enemy's side.

xxx

Malheur, his entire being concentrated towards Padma's cottage – now a crumbling and shameful imitation of its original self – exuded a steely combination of madness and desperation.

Malheur heard not a sound from the inside of the witch's cottage, not even a rustling of tiptoeing feet trying for an escape.

"Burn it," he said.

"What?"

"I said. _Burn_ _it_."

"Uh—" the soldier's tongue twisted in his mouth. He was a common man, not given to such violence, but swept away on the village's twisted currant of hate. His thoughts tripped over themselves as he tried to make sense of the order given.

"Board it up and burn it to the ground," Malheur grabbed the man and pulled him close enough to spit in his face. "I want it burned to the ground. I don't want to have to smell the witching brats within it… If only to see how quickly that desiccated tinderbox lights I want it _destroyed_. I will cleanse this earth with its ashes and whoever burns within it."

xxx

_M_ stood when she heard the rustling of running feet outside and the cushioned thump of wood landing on the soft straw of the cottage roof.

"No. No… No. NO!" she rushed at the door, colliding with it. "No!" _M_ cried pushing with all her might against the solid wood and the barricade on the other side.

"Oh… no!" she banged her fists against the door before throwing her whole weight at it.

_M_ ran to the backdoor of the cottage and tried with all her might to pull it open. She had forgotten that her mother had nailed the door shut a month previous to protect from unexpected night raids.

The windows were boarded up. _M_ was, of her own foolish making, entombed.

_M_ looked about her frantically and then she heard it. The distinctness of small, crackling pops as the tinder Malheur had encircled the cottage with caught fire. _M_ waited another moment longer, perhaps she had been mistaken.

_M_ gagged and coughed.

She could smell the thatch roof begin to burn, a fuzzy, horse-like smell that funnelled itself straight down through the open attic door and into the rest of the cottage.

_M_ raced up the ladder.

"No…"

Her eyes stung from the harsh smoke filling the attic and she coughed repeatedly before pulling the collar of her tunic up over her mouth and nose. _M_ grabbed the worn woollen blanket off her bed and furiously beat at the flames springing through the roof, but the wool soon caught light. _M_ dropped the blanket and without thinking twice, snatched the sheets off Faye's old bed and threw them down the ladder to the cottage floor below. She grabbed clothes, both hers and Faye's, and threw those down as well before the smoke drove her out.

_M_ jumped down from the attic, a leap of over fifteen feet, crashing to her knees. _M_ cried out sharply from the pain of the impact, but pulled herself to her feet and continued towards her mother's room, hobbling. She stared in astonishment as flames began to crash in through the boarded up windows of Padma's room.

_M_ reached for the compass she had left on her mother's boudoir and stashed it in her pocket. She next grabbed her mother's purse and her small hand mirror. They possessed no jewels of the ancient family line otherwise _M_ would have sent what remained off with Faye.

_M_ limped, favouring her left leg, into the kitchen once more where her pile of small treasures was slowly growing.

Kshhhhh—THUNK!

A beam of wood crashed down from the ceiling and hit Padma's bed setting it alight. _M_ wasted no more time. There had always been a second attic of sorts within the cottage, a subterranean shelter into which Padma had stored their most precious foodstuffs and personal items.

_M_ pushed the kitchen table over and out of her way, tossing it across the room so that its legs flipped into the air like a tipped cow. The door in the floor had been sealed over by a thick crust of dirt and dust that _M_ kicked the heel of her foot into. After repeated blows and shots of static pain up her calf to her knee,_ M_ cracked the earthy surface and clawed the rest of the old grime away with her fingernails until she found the rusted iron handle.

"Come on!" _M_ grunted, gritting her teeth. "Arrrgghhhhhhh!"

With a final wrenching pull _M_ broke the dirt that had worked its way into the door's hinges.

The cellar had been built long ago, before either _M_ or Faye was born, when Padma had been scouting for a plot of land onto which she could build her home. The girls' father showed her the small subterranean hideout of his childhood and she bought the small plot of land encircling it. In secret, after their marriage, Padma and her husband expanded the dimensions of the hideout into a ten feet deep, twelve feet long and six feet wide shelter.

Gypsy raids had been common then. Groups of savage men turned beast-like in their behaviour rushed in from the plains and branched out across the villages at the foot of the mountains. They pillaged and stole from the common people, often raping the women and stealing children before driving stakes and axes through the hearts and heads of the men.

_M_ had never seen a raid. As a child she had only created vivid imaginings from the tales her mother told.

_M_ stared down into the darkness.

She was frightened.

Terribly.

Violently.

Frightened.

A flaming beam crashed down beside _M_ and she screamed. The cottage filled with enough smoke that _M_'s eyes burned along with her throat. Into the cellar she pushed the blankets and small treasures.

Kshhhhh—THUNK!

Another beam from the roof fell crashing through the attic and creating a bonfire in the center of Padma's bedroom.

_M_ tried to looked around her, but all she could see was smoke and orange flames licking at the stone walls of her home.

Kshhhhh—THUNK!...

Kshhhhh—THUNK! Kshhhhh—THUNK! Kshhhhh—THUNK!

_M_ dove headfirst into the cellar accidentally catching a latch on the cellar door with her boot. Though the door slammed close behind her, _M_ lost her boot to the raging fire above.

It was the darkest shade of black in that cellar as _M_ groped the walls trying to find the right way up. Her hands barely skimmed the ceiling of the pit as she searched for the northern facing side. The dark cellar would become her tomb if she did not find a way to bring some air in, hence the northern wall.

_M_ reached down into her remaining boot and pulled out her dagger. Standing on something in the dark after finally reaching the north wall _M_ jabbed her knife into the ceiling where the four walls met and formed a corner past the outside wall of the cottage.

She could still hear the cracking and tumbling of the cottage above her as the fire steadily ate it away. _M_ moved faster, digging towards the surface with her dagger. The consistent drop in fresh air that the fire was sucking out of her shelter was creating a vacuum.

_M_ gagged from loss of air more and more till she wasn't sure whether her eyes were open or closing in the darkness.

Then small at first, barely bigger than a pinprick, a stream of grey light filtered down through the layers of soil and into _M_'s eye. Another thrust and _M_ broke the surface with her dagger bringing down frozen dirt and gravel with light and fresh air.

_M_ gasped, pressing her face closer to the opening. She took a deep breath and let herself slide down the dirt wall of the cellar to the floor.


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry. If anyone is still reading this, I know. I'm terrible at updating. But if anyone out there has questions about this chapter (I know I made it a little confusing, but you might have to read it twice to understand) please email me and I'll be happy to reply.

- Heartly

**Chapter 14: Seven Senses **

It comes in from the ether,

Setting the seven senses a tingling.

Awakened, another eye it opens

As the heartbeat slows and closes.

Something, a little creature of the underground dark, wiggled across _M_'s chest, leaving behind a wet and slightly sticky trail of slime on her vest. _M_ opened her eyes and looked down at her bootless foot. A small haze of eyelashes curtained her eyes. Sunlight, tinged orange by either the setting or rising sun – _M_ could not be certain – shone down in broken beams of light through the gap she had made in the cellar ceiling with her dagger.

The smell of ash, woody, almost rich in scent, had seeped into every nook and cranny of the cellar.

As _M_'s eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, she saw the outline of a raven dart through the orange light that came streaming down through the cellar like the loosened hair of an auburn-headed lover. The distinct caw, caw of a crow alongside the long and slow croak of the raven echoed throughout the cellar, piercing _M_'s eardrums as sharply as the scrape of steel against steel.

There was silence and not a single shadow moved. Then hundreds of small, almost transparent, black pinpricks of shade burst into the orange light, spiralling and circling round each other in a twisted dance.

The black shadows slowly began to expand, swallowing up the smaller ones as they grew. Looping around and through each other, the crows and ravens swelled in size, moaning all the while as though they were speaking to one another.

_M_ felt her breath catch in her throat as one of the shadow birds stopped and stared her straight in the eye. With pointed precision the bluely-hued raven opened its beak and dove at _M_, swallowing her down into his gut where she churned alongside the remnants of foggy nightmares and the shine from prophetic dreams.

xxx

_M_ opened her eyes once again. Above her, the sky had been swallowed by smoke and enormously thick clouds of the deepest purple, black where the shadows fell, whose rumblings fiercely shook the sandy earth below.

The air was stale. The forests were gone and the plains were as bare as they had been in the beginning. Yet the mountains remained. Though they were not crowned with peaks of stately white and their surface revealed itself to be made of solid rock, the mountains still retained their grandeur. Their presence was undiminished.

_M_ blinked her eyes and swallowed hard as she sat upright. A raven stood not five feet from her, a plump orange clutched in one of its large taloned feet. He looked at her strangely; a bird of prey holding a stare with a hominid without apprehension or dislike.

Pleased with his assessment, the raven cocked his head to one side and croaked at her as though trying to speak in the human tongue. _M_ simply shook her head side to side: _No_. The raven bristled with frustration and shook his wings violently about him. After another moment he calmed and cocked his head to the side once more before releasing the orange in his grip and nudging it gently with his beak so that the orange rolled towards _M_.

_M_ looked down at the bright orange as it collided softly with her right knee. But she did not touch it and could not understand her own apprehension. _M_ looked up again to the raven only to see that he had been joined by another raven and a crow all of whom seemed to be waiting for her to take the first bite.

_M_ looked down at the innocent orange that gleamed beside her now. Something welled up deep inside her stomach, an insatiable hunger and damn near unquenchable thirst. There was no stream to be seen for hundreds of miles in any direction of the desert.

In her hands the orange smelled so sweetly, its oils almost dripping from its skin. The colour was perfect. The scent so intoxicating that _M_ did not even think to peel the rind from the delicate flesh within before she took a bite.

Oh, the taste of it. A beatified pulp. The orange was juicy and cool as she chewed it and swallowed that the thought of not taking a second bite would have been condemnable heresy. _M_ took another bite and another, noisily sucking the sweet nectar of the orange's fruit before fervidly chewing the tangy white meat and orange rind.

The raven and his company watched as _M_'s crazed feasting slowed and then stopped completely as she fell back, closed-eyed, against the ground. The orange dropped from her hands.

xxx

Fish. The smell reached her nostrils before she opened her eyes. As soon as _M_ did the sight of the fish was nearly enough to make her sick. _M_ suppressed a gag as she moved and heard the squishing and slap! slap! of the fish sliding over one another.

But they were dead. When that second smell hit her nostrils _M_ finally saw that the eyes of the grey creatures were a disturbing off-white, as pungent in colour as their stench.

_M_ retracted an arm from the mass of fish hearing the slurp and squish that they made as the space where her arm had been closed it on itself. _M_ looked up, hoping to once again see the awesome clouds of deep purple and black above her. _M_ did not see the thundering giants tumble over her head. She saw only the bellies and soft under parts of dozens of crow and raven wings.

It was a net that held her and the dozens of dead and stinking fish high above the land. Carried by the crows and ravens, their talons gripping the edges of the net in which _M_ lay, their bodies blocked out the sky. They called out to one another as they flew, carrying _M_ higher and higher, further from anything she had ever dare know; their voices a chorus of singsong caws and croaks.

xxx

"Hhhhh!"

_M_ awoke with a gasp. She tumbled off of the stocked-away preservatives she had fallen asleep on and onto the ground. _M_ slipped a hand under her tunic, felling her pulse race with every breath she took. After a moment her breathing steadied.

A greyish light was streaming in through the dagger-hole in the cellar ceiling. _M_, finally calm, got down on her hands and knees to search for the dagger she had dropped somewhere. The earth was cool and packed flat and hard from careful architecture and winter's abuse.

After another moment of searching, _M_'s fingertips finally found the dagger's hilt. The earth was tougher to break as _M_ stabbed at the opening in ceiling. The night before it had been so cold that the soil froze through and through; now _M_ could barely scrape away a few inches of dirt.

_M_ rammed the dagger into the cellar ceiling, dislodging a frozen clod of pebbles and mud. Another small ray of light broke into the cellar. _M_ looked down at her feet. Clothes and sheets littered the floor along with some spilled herbs and books. Books… The book! _M_ checked her person, panic stricken, but soon sighed in relief when she found the little black book from the Ranger tucked safely into her tunic pocket.

_M_ stood for a moment simply clasping the black book to her chest and staring at the mess she had enclosed herself in. Her stomach grumbled. _God, I know_, she thought. _I know… I'm starving… and I am going to die here if I do not get out._

xxx

_M_ lunged forwards wielding her spear in an ungainly manner. After tearing through the cellar and discovering some preservatives and cheeses stocked away in a barrel, _M_ had ripped the barrel to pieces, lashed some of the wood together with her dagger at the tip and formed a makeshift spear. The trapdoor leading up to the cottage was barricaded, and _M_ had been hopeful for a little miracle that would allow for an easier escape. Instead she found herself in the process of viciously attacking the small opening in the cellar ceiling.

She would be quick; already she had packed up the clothes, bed sheets, herbs, books and food into a large burlap sac. _M_ rushed through an escape plan as she tore down the cellar ceiling. _Out… get out quick. Run for the forest then north along its edges. If I must I'll steal a horse…_

_M_ threw down her spear, unlashed her dagger from the tip and re-sheathed it before ripping the gravel down from above with her bare hands. Her shoulders ached, stiff from the blows she had made to the ceiling with her spear. Now her arms almost completely resisted carving out an opening for her to escape.

"Ahhh!"

A chunk of frozen earth crashed down onto _M_'s head and she tumbled backwards onto her behind again. The gravel that had thrown itself into _M_'s eyes quickly settled and _M_ stood up. Proud enough, she pushed her bag through the small opening.

_M_ wrestled herself through the opening. The rocks and the frozen earth itself scrapped her sides as she struggled to pull herself up and out. Upon emerging _M_ collapsed, belly-up, against the ground, panting, but otherwise unharmed.

The stillness and complete silence of the village alarmed _M_; she could only see a haze covering the rest of the village as though it were encircled in a thin partition of smoke.

_M_ rose to her feet, the chill in winter's bite had softened slightly; aboveground the earth had more give to it as she walked. Though the partition did not part with a wave of her hand _M_ walked on through it, away from her destroyed cottage towards the village. The silence and light scent of burning hay rang in the air.

And then she saw them.

The first ones lay on the ground, scattered amongst them were the heads of goats and fallen timber. Their blood mixed with hair and animal hide, innards spilled out of the unfortunate few who had been slit open from naval to nose. The smell hit _M_'s nose like no other, crawling in and up behind her eyeballs till, clutching her stomach, she doubled over and vomited.

A wind picked up, gently nudging some the haze away from the village; peeling it off the ground and the fallen.

_M_ saw the village: destroyed. Shanties and lean-tos lay in smouldering piles, brought to the ground with axes and clubs. Corpses were scattered amongst the timbers: not children's', but women's' and men's', their heads split open like rotting fruit.

_M_ gagged, covering her mouth with her hand to stop the sick from spilling out from between her lips. But she vomited again… and again. Over and over M emptied her stomach of all its contents.

As the smoke from the last fires abated and the entire village from the forest lines to the Western Wall* could be seen, no dream could have predicted the wreckage beheld next.

*Western Wall: I might not have been too clear about this term, but it is the protective wall encircling Kelt. It is a very tall and thick defensive wall made of trees from the Wild Woods.

Please let me know (if there is anyone still reading this) if you have any questions. Email me and I will be delighted to respond.


	15. Chapter 15

It may have taken awhile (again) for me to finish and publish this chapter, but I'm afraid its because I was trying to overcome my first ever serious writer's block. Funny because I never would have guessed it would happen to me, but thats what we all say right? Anyway, I just hope that whoever is reading this still enjoys it. If you have any comments or questions please feel free to message me.

- Heartly

**Chapter 15: At the Edge of Things **

Malice and greed may fill the air that I breathe

But never in my lungs shall I carry such deeds.

Yet if I do cry out into the night

It shall be your name upon my lips

And not whimpers for the dead

Nor the knowledge of my shortened life.

"NO!"

Out from his sleep the Ranger had shouted, not recognizing the waking world from his dream one. The Ranger had dreamed of Kelt; a terrible dream to have in the night-time.

He whispered her name in the darkness of his tent the likes of which he and his disparaged men had been forced to pitch directly on the battlefield as the enemy faded and disappeared into the night.

_Mona._

She had been there, standing there, right at the edge of things with blood and dirt smeared across her features. He had come down from the Western Wall where a spear had pierced his side and hung him like drying meat against the wood.

_Mona._

He had cradled her face in his hands feeling the filth of her grim poverty and the expansiveness of land and time separate their skins.

_Mona_. A name in a night without end. A sigh and a moan. _Mona_.

The Ranger carried the memory of her like a stone in his mouth. The salt, the weight of his talisman, ground against his gums and teeth almost choking him, making him spit blood.

xxx

_Safe._

_Do not worry for me, I am hidden amongst the trees in places not even you would think to look. Yet I loose my footing amongst the roots and without a horse it is very hard to travel. From my camp I cannot see the mountains nor can I remember if it is my tenth or perhaps fifteenth day abroad. I suppose it does not matter how I count the days now. I have not the comfort of your voice to ease this passage I make, but a new companion instead: a babbling brook…_

_M _quit her writing and stared at the gurgling brown mess spewing out of the earth, undrinkable, too ugly even for the dirt to hold.

_M_ had nothing now to feed her solitude but memories of events compressed into tangled heaps without sense. Her spine was curving, she hunched over her treasures and letters now, keeping them close to her person at all times. She had no hope to numb the pangs of hunger fever burgeoning like belladonna in her stomach.

xxx

They boiled their belts and sucked on rocks for the salt. Hungry mouths stuffed ash from burnt-out fires into their pockets to lick off fingers later when there would be no horse meat, then, later still, when there was no meat of any kind. The latter event swept o'er the troops sooner than anticipate. The Ranger felt himself grow heavier as each day passed; his belly stretched from the weight of the pebbles he swallowed and his skin grew taunt and sallow.

He read the few letters she sent him, his heart hungrier than his stomach. How they arrived he could not be certain; his loyal finch had long been devoured. Though the Ranger suspected that Mona did not consider herself above the use of black magic, he maintained his reservations.

xxx

_M_ watched the mangy looking hare as he munched on his late afternoon meal, jealously aware that though he too was starving, he still had more to eat than she.

**Shhhhhh- ****zing! **

_M_ launched her small dagger through the underbrush cursing as it whizzed over the animal's flank.

"Damn it!"

For lack of arrows or a bow _M_ had tried to make do hunting with knives, but the process was slow and arduous often failing.

_M_ cursed and scowled her worst as she went stomping through the underbrush searching for her knife. But as _M_ swept a low hanging branch from her path she was met with a pleasant surprise; her dagger she found, but also the little hare lying on the forest floor a few feet further on as his life blood drained from his hip.

_M_ gave her thanks fervently as she gobbled up her meal. The old hare was tough and stringy at best, but roasted over the campfire had become delicious and flavourful like the earth after a good rain: rich and promising. Twilight had begun its slow inky creep over the day pulling a sheet of starlight half way over the heavens and the Wild Woods. Through a break in the canopy above her _M_ saw the fading roseate lights pass as night drifted over the lands.

Lulled into a drunken-like languor from nourishment she shut her eyes, sinking into the pillowy dark of nothingness.

xxx

_Safe._

_On the move again. Cannot linger. Heading deeper into the forest. Not far from the mountains. Will send word. _

_ M._

The Ranger crushed _M_'s letter in his fist, drawing it to his chest before straightening it to read her short words again. Twenty-one words he counted – including her initials – and reread. He counted those words as though they were worry beads he could turn and pinch between his fingers. The Ranger fumed over _M_'s reluctance to explain herself, for her lack of better judgment, for her coldness.

_M _was obviously unaware of the risks she was taking to send him letters. And so it passed that the Ranger began to see – as he had not before – that _M_ was becoming something not altogether whole as she had once appeared; but with fissures deepening each step she took away from humanity and into the bleak wilderness of solitude.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: The Black Mountains**

_Blue shadows fall here_

_In the steely mountains_

_While the wind howls in_

_And the grey lifeless move. _

_M _looked at the compass slung about her neck on its chain of gold. The arrow, ruby red in colour, did not settle: _M _was neither east nor west, north nor south, but in a strange sort of in-between state.

Tucking the compass back under her tunic _M _set her feet to a less frightening path through the forest's underbrush. By nightfall she would know if she'd strayed for it seemed that the compass was useless in these parts, a pretty trinket if nothing else.

The ginger _M _had pulled from the ground was spicy, it made her eyes water, but she chewed on it none the less. There had been a little rabbit left from her previous nights' feast and alongside the ginger it was enough for the day.

_M_ walked till she lost what remained of her sense of time. She walked until she could feel a sort of lightness. Perhaps it was the ginger burning her nostrils and her eyes, perhaps it was the midday sun that tried so very hard to sneak through the leaves overhead.

A twig snapped behind her. The sound startled her slightly, but _M_ did not stop and draw her dagger from its sheath at her hip.

It was in the rays of sunset that _M_ began to clearly see the ends of the forest. She had felt the beginning of the mountain roots a few miles back; a slow and steady incline, but now her certainty and confidence was renewed and she began to hope for a small cave in which she could settle down for the night. A low growl came from behind her, just over her right shoulder. _M_ spun around quickly but saw nothing except the last trees of the forest line.

As _M _continued on small stones and pebbles tumbled down the mountain onto the last soft grasses of the forest floor and again _M_ heard the low growl, but just as she turned to look behind her the thing disappeared.

For a moment _M_ stood still, her breath escaping in shallow wisps in the shadow of the black mountains. Then it moved again.

_M _came to a standstill with the forest, her back to the pass that would lead her through the black mountains. She delayed only a moment to look behind her before a strange feeling came up from the forest. All that only a moment earlier had glowed lush and green in the setting sun darkened and pressed closer to her as two yellow eyes appeared and leveled with her own.

_M_ tore into a flight up the rocky roots of the mountains towards the pass, her heart hammering in her chest. The ground changed here, loose with rubble and stone _M_ lost her footing and scraped the palms of her hands.

But the feel of the daemon's eyes at her back and its claws round her throat propelled her up the mountainside and into the cold nest of shadows and rock where she stopped and fainted.

xxx

The pass of the black mountains was narrow and old. Centuries it seemed had passed without the pass being used. Yet it had been through these very mountains that Ralick and the Ranger had lead their men and the peoples of Irefort to Montceleste.

For days _M_ walked on in silence, wary, but unafraid and undisturbed by the other animals that lived in the high places. She picked at the lichens and mosses and other small flowers, nibbling at the edible ones and storing the rest that were not in between the pages of the black book.

A second winter was thickening in the mountains and like a blanket came down around _M_'s shoulders with only the slightest of rustlings. She had never seen such a white winter or felt one so cruel. The winds whistled and shrieked through the mountains chaffing her hands and cutting her face bare with the snow and hail. _M _felt stripped to the bone, even as she hugged her cloak tighter, even as she buried herself into caves and overhangs carved out of the mountains.

It was weeks before _M_ reached the end of the pass. Yet instead of finding the stone gates of Montceleste at her feet _M_ saw a russet red sea undulating before her; soft swells tapering into peaks in the brilliant sunlight.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: The Old Crone**

_Ebberoot for pain_

_Chotase to help the eyes see better at night_

_Larsunder flower with tea for a clear head_

_Buewol adds muscle_

_Piany eaten raw heals wounds._

"Get up."

_M _did not move. The voice she could barely discern out of the fog she was in.

"Get up, now."

The voice punctuated it's demand with a small to kick to _M_'s ribs.

"Ow," _M _groaned.

"Well, get up then," the voice repeated. "Now."

_M _turned her head side to side and arched her spine like a cat bringing herself up out of her slumber. As soon as _M_ opened her eyes the thing that had been speaking to and kicking her shuffled off. There was a strange sort of tinkling noise like the moving of pots and pans that _M_ took notice of before directing her attention elsewhere.

Above her _M_ could see no ceiling or rafters through the smoke that permeated the place, but she could feel the make of the floor beneath her: sand. Hardened sand.

It was a musty smell like moth wings and dust that mixed with heady incense and spices to perfume the air. And it was warm, very warm, so much so that _M_ felt sweat drip from her armpits and stain her tunic, and her feet grow hot in their thick boots.

_M_ rolled herself over onto her stomach feeling heavy in the dark sweltering place whose shape and standing was as obscure as the disembodied voice that had kicked her. Had she been able _M_ would have spat sand and asked for water, but such a reflex was as distant to her conceptually as Kelt was to her geographically.

"Do you want some water to drink?" the voice asked.

_M_ nodded and the thing shuffled towards her, lifted her hair from her face and pressed a tin cup to her lips. _M_ sipped lightly at the water.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," the voice replied. "Now, I am going to prop you up because I do not think it would be a good idea for you to go back to sleep right now."

_M_ simply nodded and let whatever it was half drag half throw her up against the wall of the shelter. _M_ ran her fingertips across the base of the wall and felt dried mud. The poor and the hermits of the old country made their homes out of mud and thatch. _M_ wondered if this thing was one of the same or perhaps a flesh monster, the kind which preyed on wander-some travellers and lived in solitude. But _M _could not give the thought full form and began to drift back into the dark.

"Don't you dare fall asleep now," the voice said, "not good for you. Hey! Wake up!"

_M_ jolted awake as the thing kicked her foot again.

"Ow," _M_ groaned. "Stop it..."

"Well, then don't fall back into that slumber of yours. Been like that for long enough," the voice repeated pulling her boots off. "Bare feet. You must be poor, or insane. Bare feet... and in good boots. Where are you headed traveler?"

"Montcéleste," _M_ mumbled.

"What?"

"Montcéleste," _M_ repeated and coughed clearing her throat.

"Ahh," the voice said, "the safe city. You'll find no peace there now traveler, the city is dead."

_M's_ look of surprise gave her away.

"'Tis true traveler, the city is dead, it has eaten itself alive. Now, if you are smart you will stay clear of those walls or you will die beneath them. Traveler?... Traveler, are you listening? Traveler? Traveler!"

_M_'s eyes had rolled to the back of her head and she fell to her side as the desert heat rushed towards her and seizures and shakes came over her body.

xxx

_M_ awoke in the middle of the night. She had fainted into a slump against the hut wall. Her neck cramped and the muscles in her shoulders twinged painfully as she sat herself up, but her head was clear.

The voice she had half heard half dreamt whispering in her ear had moved outside and now was chanting an ugly, slow song.

The flap of animal skins that covered the doorway swayed slightly and outside, several feet beyond the doorway. _M_ could see the hunched figure; an old crone, standing with her arms held open to an impossibly starry sky as though to embrace it.

xxx

_M _awoke again to the sound of the old crone tinkering with metal. She kept her eyes closed till the form of the great black dog the Ranger appeared in in her dreams disappeared. Three small ravens, who had morphed out of the shadows, rode upon his back as he paced – through the very air itself – in circles.

The crone made no move towards her. _M_ stayed silent and unmoving till nightfall.

xxx

"... it was in the spring that the city fell. A time when the earth ought to give light and warmth to new life, the city fell burning to the ground."

_M_ listened in silence as her host told her of Montcéleste's ruination. They had supped well and were now seated upon the warm sand floor drinking blackened wine from the same cup. The old crone kept a large skin of wine and had mixed it with herbs _M_ had never tasted before.

"You see," the crone began, refiling the cup with wine, "the great forests of Irefort were exhausted; their city and forges had eaten them away. So when Montcéleste, in all her goodness, offered her forests up to Irefort, well... that was it. Irefort could not afford to lose the profit that the mines churned out each year so they struck a bargain and took the wood to fuel their forges. Fire like you have never seen; fire you could spot from the tops of the mountains there," and the crone pointed to the tallest of them that stood silhouetted against the setting sun. "Saw it myself one day. Looked like the very flames of hell were spitting up the city."

"How did they send the wood?" _M _asked. "Surely not by horse and cart, land like that... that's a long crossing..."

"No," the crone replied, taking a swig of the wine. "By the old river."

"The river? But I... I thought the old river ran under the mountains, not through them."

"Oh the river runs under the mountains..."

"They dug it up?" _M _asked, incredulous.

"That they did."

"How?"

"With machines..." the crone replied, gesturing with her hands. "With instruments the likes of which no man has ever seen, instruments borrowed from Devils-"

"-That's foolish talk," _M_ interrupted.

"Watch your tongue!" the crone chastised. "Or I'll ship you back out to where I found you wandering."

"I'm sorry," _M_ spoke. "Please forgive my manners, I'm anxious for news."

The old crone took a gulp of wine before continuing. "There's not a soul that goes outside those gates, not one soul. They dig under the mountains for the rivers; the old ones. The strongest currents move underground, unnoticed for miles before they reach the surface, by then half the forest of Montcéleste is at Irefort's doorstep."

"And Irefort's gold and silver mines, their forges are fuelled by this wood..." _M_ replied.

"No. Not silver or gold sweetheart. Irefort is the iron city now, the city of ore."

_M_ felt a sickness brewing in her stomach as she took a sip of wine. Irefort's forges fuelled by trees felled in Montcéleste, sent by river routes underground... Irefort no longer the bejewelled city, but the mining city; the city of ore and iron.

"The war in the southwest," _M_ kept her tone quiet, "the rebellions... the uprisings... Irefort is mining ore and iron for warfare."

"Yes."

"To fight those who oppose Montcéleste's intervention."

"Yes."

"Then Montcéleste is fuelling a civil war," _M_ continued, shocked by the truth in her own words.

"Yes," the old crone repeated.

"But I..." _M_ stumbled. "I don't understand. I can't understand it... "


	18. Chapter 18

So... its been a while, but if anyone is still reading this I hope you enjoy this chapter (a year in the making).

- Heartly

**Chapter 18: The Desert**

_Gods are ever watchful_

_And ever jealous._

_They send their messenger _

_The Sun to preside over all things_

_Till the heavens crack open _

_And they, the Gods, spill out._

_M_ sat in silence, cross-legged in the sand inside the crone's hut looking at a map in the black book. The territories _M _was most interested in however were the Wild Woods and the flatlands: the great stretch of plains between Kelt and Irefort. There was the path _M_ had taken through the woods and into the mountains, and the emptiness of western plains, but nothing of Kelt save for a small _x_ marking its position at the roots of the forest.

It came as a surprise to _M_ that her people had been for so long so well concealed. Was it the darkening shadows? or perhaps the forest's terrors that had kept others away? The black book's author had noted them, and elsewhere in the map additions had been made in variety, but it seemed that even those who had braved such horrors as the Battle Upon the Northly Seas and encounters with the barbarian tribesmen that roamed the flatlands had been wary of the forest and the people who had lived there.

_M_ took the small amount of ink she had and carefully began to sketch in the parameters of what had been the wall that surrounded Kelt and its outlying fields. Next, she painted small shapes of houses within Kelt's walls making sure to keep her hand steady and not to dribble the ink across the page.

"You may stay here for a while longer," said the crone, "if you like." She was twisting wild garlic from the mountains together into a plait. Her fingers worked quickly as she looked at _M_.

_M_ stopped her sketching to meet the gaze of the crone. "I have no money."

"And of what use is that to me?" replied the crone, braiding the garlic tighter and tighter. "No. No I need a strong body to do the work I cannot anymore."

_M_ was hesitant to ask what sort of labours the crone might have her do, but ask she did, slowly, cautiously, feeling smaller as she did so.

"There is an oasis not far from here, a mile or two, too far for me to reach now-a-days, but it is the only source of water that I know of. I cannot lift a full pail of it anymore, let alone half full. You must do this for me."

_M_ nodded. "Alright," she said.

The sun rose to its zenith while they spoke and then began its slow descent downwards to meet with the underworld. _M_ would set out for the oasis tomorrow before first light.

xxx

_M_ awoke the next morning to the calm of darkness. Outside the hut, concealed only by the flap of skins that hung in the doorway, a coyote howled. The sound caught _M_ by surprise, but did not frighten her.

_M _rolled over onto her stomach resting her chin on her folded hands. The air in the hut was close, and the flap of skins in the doorway shuddered in the soft breeze blew that in from the east; _M _imagined that it had come through the oasis and that she could smell the sweetness of the water in the wind's breath.

The oasis was a ways away yet and _M_ would have to be moving before the sun rose and made the trek too hot to travel.

There was a large tin pail outside the hut beside the door that _M_ had never taken notice of before and she remembered that she had not stepped outside the hut in all the time she'd been there. How long had it been? Time, in the desert, could be measured only by the fall and rise of the sun and _M_ had not kept a watch on this nor the cycle of the moon or stars. Had it been a week? Two weeks? A month perhaps?

Beside the pail was a wooden barrel lashed together with leather, it was three times as wide as she, and nearly as tall. _M_ picked up the tin pail, it was quite light and cool to the touch, but with no handle and rust showing on the outside edges of the lip.

_M_ gazed off into the distance seeing little save what the light from the stars afforded. Looking back to the hut _M_ saw the old crone hunched over in the doorway holding the flap of skins aside. She pointed east with a long, bony finger and _M_ looked back into the distance hoping she was looking towards the oasis.

_M_ moved east.

The tin pail was light in her arms as she walked, and _M_ believe that she carried it well and did not think about it much further than that. The time passed quickly as _M_ walked, she noticed only that her legs soon grew tired and she stopped for a moment, placed the pail upside down in the sand, sat upon it, and rested before moving onwards again.

It was only when the first ray of the sun, brilliant and pink, broke over the desert that _M_ saw the oasis shimmering in the distance. Picking up her pace _M_ made her way towards it and was met with soft grass, greenish-black in the light, and wet and cold with dew. Kneeling in the grass _M_ stretched out her hand and dipped it into the small pool of clear water in front of her. She felt herself smile at the water's coolness; she had forgotten the touch of water on her skin and rejoiced, weeping salty tears that fell onto the grass.

The water and the grass lay at the roots of a gnarly tree, its bark polished smooth and white from sandstorms. Yet the crevices of the tree where the branch met the trunk, were carved deep into the wood as though someone had taken a chisel to them. _M_ traced a line on the tree that ran down the trunk to the root. The tree was dead.

_M_ retracted her hand from the bark as though the tree had bit her. Reaching behind her on the grass where she had dropped the tin pail, _M _brought it to the water and touched the lip to the surface before gently submerging it. The water made a delightful sloshing sound as _M_ pulled the tin pail up out of the pool and onto the grass beside her.

_M_ looked towards the horizon again just as the sun stretched another ray over the desert. The air was still cool, but the sun's light felt pleasantly warm on her back and _M_ knew that in a short time the valley would be hot enough to ruin her. _M_ looked at her hands as she laid them against the lip of the tin pail. Her fingers were filthy, sand and sweat had mixed together under the nails and in the lines of her palms.

_M_ looked towards the still water. Without a second thought _M_ plunged her hands into the water scrubbing them roughly. Patches of blistered skin quickly peeled off her hands which soon became red and tender._ M_ plunged her face into the water. When she came up for a breath of air _M_ could feel the searing dryness of the desert air climb back into her lungs again.

As she leaned over the pool wiping her eyes and pushing her sopping wet hair out of her face, _M_ saw reflected in the water a raven perched on the topmost branch of the dead tree, clear as a mirror. _M_ startled and whipped around to look at the tree, but no raven did she see perched upon the branches nor when she looked back into the water's reflection, only ripples as water droplets fell from her hair and back into the pool.

xxx

Five days had passed since _M_ had first fetched water for the crone. Since then _M_ had not tarried at the pool or cast a stray glance towards the dead tree when she collected water. It had become her responsibility to fill the wooden barrel each and every morning and by the fifth _M_ was able to make the trip to the pool and back three times before the sun was up.

The crone was greatly pleased and asked _M_ if she would make the journey to the pool in the evening as well. _M_ complied without question. And so the old crone began weaving a great cloth.

"What is it you make?" _M_ asked seven nights later, as she emptied the last pail of water into the barrel.

"A map," replied the crone.

"Do you map the contours of the earth? Or those of the heavens?"

"The heavens. I am weaving for the Goddess who keeps me – keeps us – afloat in this deserted land."

"You weave to please her?"

"Yes," replied the crone, "and more."

The old crone sat on her haunches by the doorway. _M _kneltdown in front of the crone and fingered the coarse threads that were spread in the sand.

"When you chant," _M _asked, "is it also to please the Goddess?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Mostly I do it for my own comfort. Whether the Goddess takes the time to listen I do not know. As of yet I believe she has not heard my prayers."

"The Goddess hears all prayers and thoughts," _M _replied.

"Who told you that?" the crone flicked the threads away from _M_'s hands.

"My mother."

"And do you believe her?"

"Yes. Sometimes. No. I don't think the Goddess hears any prayers or thoughts."

"Why say you that?"

_M _ shrugged and shook her head. "I don't know."

"Hmm," the crone nodded. "I think you do."

_M _gave the crone a dirty look.

"You will confide in me," the crone muttered to herself.

_M _heard her. "Is that an order?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I regret opening my mouth," _M _replied.

"Is that all you regret?"

_M _stared daggers now at the old crone. A silence descended then and _M _clenched her jaw feeling rage and tears begin to gather behind her eyes, pressing against them she looked away.

_M _did not answer the crone. Rising to her feet she stepped over the crone's weaving, pushed aside the flap of animal skins covering the door, and stepped in. The hut was dank and silent. _M _stumbled through the dark to the table on which she slept – she did not trust the snakes to leave her in peace in the night – and leaned against it.

She felt her anger bubbling and spitting in her stomach like oil in a hot saucepan. _M _bemoaned her sorrow, weeping silently at first and without tears.

_M _cried herself to sleep that night. That night and the next. She did not dream of Kelt or of the Ranger, but of blackness, of nothingness, waking each morning to flakes of salt on her skin and the humming chants of the old crone. _M _came to despise the crone's chanting; it prayed for newness of life and hope and forgiveness, of which _M _wanted no part. She only craved silence the kind of which was carved out of her body and soul. Silence.

Soon after, the crone obliged her by throwing her weaving over her head to muffled the sounds that escaped her mouth in prayer.

And _M _wandered to the pool more and more, rising earlier to sit beside the dead tree and staying later in the evenings till the stars reflected in the water's surface.

One night _M_ brought with her to the pool a letter for the Ranger. She sat by its edge and read it aloud to the still water and to the grass and to the reeds that grew in the shadows.

She whispered of the dying of her love for him and of her heart, burning up in the desert heat.

She whispered of the fierce cold of the mountains and the winter at which the water shuddered and rippled slightly.

She whispered of the sun, orange and red and pulsing as it rose each morning and set every evening, bright and steaming like the eye of the Gods.

At the last word _M _folded the letter and pushed it into the crevice carved into the dead tree. The pool rippled again and again, stronger and stronger as though a great war drum were being beaten by its side. But _M_ did not see, she had turned away and begun walking back to the crone's hut and muffled chanting. Before the last ripple beat through the water the image of a raven appear in the pool, sharp and clear, then flew off into fire and chaos.


	19. Chapter 19

Sorry this chapter has taken so long. I've written a few out now so expect the next chapter in a week or two.

- Heartly

**Chapter 19: Blood**

_Bloody Mars_

_Whose wrath invoked_

_This war_

_Whose lusty calls_

_We hear_

_Whose golden altar_

_We worship._

_Bloody Mars_

_Whose vulcan armour _

_Shields us. _

The camp was in flames. Roaring rebels, hair streaming loose and wild, their bodies painted and quick, darted through the camp. Brandishing torches they set fire to the tents of sleeping soldiers who, caught unawares, either roasted in their sleep or ran about screaming and writhing in pain.

The crackle of wood burning and the wet sizzle of skin in flames filled the Ranger's ears. As he stumbled past the flaming lumps of bone and blood, smoke choked his throat. His once good men were now joining their Gods. The Ranger tripped over a fallen wooden post throwing his hands out in front of him to catch his fall. Blood had mixed in with the winter mud, freezing to his skin and clothes as he pulled away from the ground. The Ranger's hands shook with fear and sorrow.

He kneeled, head hung low as soldiers from Irefort and common men rallied to fight off the flames that were consuming the camp. A few shovels were produced and the soldiers began to heave lumps of soil onto the burning pieces of men and tents alike. Yet as the Ranger sat and watched Irefort's champions smother flames Ralick's men snuck up and grabbed him.

Struggling to fight off Ralick's soldiers the Ranger kicked back but was rewarded with a sharp hit to the ribs which cracked under the force of the blow. Ralick's soldiers were fast and mean dragging the Ranger over the bodies of soldiers and fighting men who littered the field. The Ranger strained to stay conscious, he could feel the blood drain from his hollowed cheeks. Darkness closed in in black rings around his eyes as Ralick's men hauled and tossed the Ranger inside Ralick's tent.

The Ranger came to as soon as he hit the earth inside Ralick's quarters. The tent walls were draped in cloths of deep red and gold, banners flanked Ralick as he sat at a great wooden table. Trinkets and baubles, swords and shields taken from the dead rebels were pilled in corners. The Ranger half expected to see the rotting heads of rebels scattered in and amongst Ralick's spoils.

Strewn about the table's surface were maps of the lands seized and held by the rebel forces and papers upon endless papers signed and bearing Irefort's insignia, all awaiting Ralick's attention. Victories were drafted and expertly written, new maps made, expansions by the army were all documented with the utmost detail and sent to Irefort's leaders, save for the maps that marked the territories lost in battle. These documents, some months, others, days old, all lay in jumbled heaps on Ralick's desk, who's pen made its scratching way across yet another paper.

"The rebels have seized the stronger ground, no thanks be to you," Ralick said plainly, without looking up to where the Ranger kneeled before him. "You and your men were supposed to keep watch."

"My men are either dead or dying," the Ranger spat back. He raised himself and stood proudly before Ralick though his side seized in pain and he nearly doubled over. "The rebels have overpowered us, what watch is there to be?"

Ralick signalled and one of the soldiers standing outside the tent entered. The Ranger turned and looked over his shoulder at the man entering. The soldier saluted Ralick who, with a lazy flap of his hand, motioned the soldier. Ralick's man struck the Ranger across the face, the metal covering the soldier's knuckles crunching into the Ranger's jaw.

The Ranger doubled over at the waist falling to his knees again in the dirt. The Ranger could taste the iron sting of blood pooling in his mouth as he spat and coughed.

"Speak to me so again and I'll take an eye," Ralick warned. "You tried to desert some months back did you not?"

The Ranger did not grace Ralick with a reply.

Ralick got up out from behind his desk and crouched down in front of the Ranger. Grabbing the Ranger's jaw he forced the Ranger's gaze to meet his own. "Tell me, was it worth the irons?" Ralick pointed towards the shackles round the Ranger's ankles. "I hear my men were at you for quite some time about this," Ralick paused, the gleam of power shining in his eyes.

The Ranger could feel the stripes across his back burn at the memory of the lashings. He could feel the blood and shame of it anew.

"You disappoint me so... your dead men are worth more to me now than a single flash of life running through your veins. Lazy, discordant–"

"Bastard," the Ranger called Ralick.

Ralick's soldier struck the Ranger again hitting him hard in the ribs. The Ranger fell over onto his side coughing and stunned once more by the force of the blow. At Ralick's signal the soldier pressed his boot down on the Ranger's throat. Ralick took a dagger from his side and without hesitation slashed open the Ranger's face cutting across his brow and left eye.

The Ranger gagged and thrashed in agony as the soldier pressed his boot down harder.

The soldier removed his foot from the Ranger's throat and the Ranger gasped for air and covered his face with his hand. The blood from his wound was warm and though slow in flowing he could not see for it.

Ralick released the Ranger from his irons and stepped behind his desk once more. Speaking to the soldier he addressed him thus:

"Saddle him up, strap him to the horse if you have to, but make sure the men see him riding... only then will they follow us into battle."

The Ranger was hauled to his feet. "You would lead those men to certain death?" he asked, incredulous. "To certain massacre?"

"I mean to lead those men to eternal glory."

Ralick nodded to the soldier who dragged the Ranger out from Ralick's tent and with the aid of his companions put the Ranger on a horse. They bound his legs to the stirrups with leather. They lashed his sword to his hand. They kicked the horse onwards to face the enemy.

Ralick met the Ranger with fifty soldiers, the last soldiers of Irefort. Upon seeing the Ranger atop a war horse, side by side with Ralick of Cur, the straggling army followed. They marched, two hundred men and fifty soldiers armed with naught but rusted blades. A poor army.

As they marched one man ran to the Ranger's side and offered him a strip of cloth which the Ranger took and bound about his head staunching the flow of blood.

Yet as they neared the rebel force who stood before them bronzed and mad with anger, the Ranger sighed and looked afresh upon the fields of slaughter. And as he looked his love appeared en-haloed in a grey light at his side. _Mona_, he smiled and reached out to touch her hair. As his hand left the horse's reign she vanished and the Ranger's horse beneath him turned and he faced his men at arms.

He saw a band of weary common men and soldiers of his own blood and creed and the Ranger felt his heart burst with love.

"My brothers," he spoke, "never was it my intention to lead you into such devastation, yet I must speak truthfully or else I meet my Gods side by side with you."

Ralick turned in shock and horror to watch the faces of his army change and shift in love for the man who sat lashed to his horse's saddle.

"On this field we will die and never know freedom. You will never see your wives or your sons or daughters or their sons and daughters. Our lives will end, today... This is not my war," the Ranger raised the sword lashed to his arm and pointed at Ralick. "My bond with you is at its end."

Turning back to the mass before him the Ranger spoke his final words upon that field.

"Stay if you must, but duty and honour hold no sway here. This is not your war. This a massacre. This is your death."

When he passed they parted for him. And when he looked over his shoulder to see the faces of the rebel army at his back he could not see him for the faces of the men in his stead.

The Ranger withdrew from the field and headed north to the City by the Sea with two hundred men behind him. Ralick marched his fifty soldiers four thousand rebel swords deep and died with them upon the battlefield.

xxx

_M _hopped from stone to stone crossing the river. Lightly stepping out across slippery rocks was no challenge for she was still lithe and graceful and her sure feet did not betray her. The sun was rising rosy and soft, bathing the tops of the mountains in light. The rushing river was crowded with rocks and pebbles, the sun had not touched them yet, so they still lay cool and quiet amidst the water.

_M _looked painted; in the morning shadows her hair shone deep blue and her skin was porcelain white and clean while in the sun's rising colours her cheeks and brow were decorated with the blush of spring.

Back into the mountains she ventured to find the proper route that would lead her to Montcéleste.

And now that it was spring the roots of the mountains, once coated in snow, were baring themselves. Moss and grass grew thick and full and _M _collected these things marvelling that such small plants had become so plentiful.

Westward and then east again, she would find her city. As _M _made the last steps across the river its dark and swirling colours reminded her of the crone's eyes as she had pried _M_'s darkest secret from her.

_M_ sat on the sand floor of the crone's hut. Incense was thick it the air and _M_ felt groggy and irritated by it. The crone was weaving her map of stars in the light of a low burning candle.

The crone spoke first.

"We may continue sit quietly if that is what you truly desire."

_M_ looked up from the spot on the floor that she had been staring at.

"I thought we were."

The crone was silent.

"Pray tell, what do you know of my desires?" _M_ continued.

"I know that you do not abide my chanting..."

_M_ harrumphed.

"... and that your patience wears thin. I wonder for how much longer you will stay and for how much longer you will carry that secret of yours."

"I have no secrets."

It was the crone's turn to disagree pointedly with a loud sigh.

"I am not your friend so do not goad me, nor am I your child." _M_ warned. "Do not chastise me."

The crone stopped her weaving and sat very still.

"Watch your tongue."

"Watch my tongue? Is that all you have to say?" _M_ was suddenly infuriated. "I carry your water, day and night, I stoke the coals of your fire, I have never protested against any task you have assigned me and yet you tell me watch my tongue? As if I were a slave to be reprimanded."

"I would have willingly taken you on, taught you anything were you willing to learn it."

"I would not be your pupil for all the gold in the lands."

"Am I so worthless? Do you think me a fool? A beggar? A witch?"

"Careful old woman, you tread dangerous ground."

"Ah," said the crone, pleased. "So I guess right, you are a witch."

"I am not."

"Then your mother, you are always ever so keen to avoid conversation of her."

"My mother was a doctor. A healer. You spit on her memory by speaking of her thus. Your words shame her and she is no memory to be shamed or belittled." _M_ nearly spat at the old crone. "You _are_ a fool, for assumptions based on guesses are the work of fools. My mother was a great woman. You will not speak of her."

"Your mother is dead," said the crone.

_M_ found herself rising to her feet in a rage and staring down at the crone through a veil of disgust and hate.

"Be silent. I will not let you defile my mother's name and mine with your talk. I am the child of kings. Your words are worth less than nothing."

"Yet they anger you."

_M _was silent and unmoving.

"I am no fool child. I am old enough to be your grandmother ten times over," said the crone. "I have had many years to walk all the paths of life; as myself or as garnered from another and there have been many others. Oh yes, many others have passed through here on their way to their own safe havens long before you. And you are all the same, even now you are no different."

"All those who wander are not lost."

"Your not some wander-some girl," stated the crone. "This is not some pleasant jaunt you've undertaken at the mercy of a whim. You are calculating in your punishment for yourself and you are cruel."

"I'm no monster," _M _whispered.

"But then what monstrous thing have you done child? What burden weighs so greatly upon your soul that you would banish yourself to such a place as this?"

_M _did not answer, she only stared blankly at the crone. The hut was silent for a long time but _M _did not take her eyes off the crone. _M _felt tears roll down her cheeks.

"What do you know of monsters?" asked _M_. "You live in pit of sand."

The crone remained hushed.

"I have seen such terrible things. Terrible things. Monstrous things... I killed a man."

The crone lowered her head in shame and did not speak again.


End file.
